


Three Women Walk Into a Bar

by AgapeErosPhilia (AttilaTheHun)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Flirting, F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttilaTheHun/pseuds/AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots and character studies involving Dragon Age characters over alcohol. Romance, friendship, professional rivalries and tragedy are all included!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Evelyn Trevelyan

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my ongoing effort to port my FF works over to AO3 (and potentially find the motivation to add to them where I can). For those who have read before, you may notice slight changes as I do some editing and clean-up.
> 
> The first few stories in this are all in a sort of inter-related reality, but in general they're all meant to be standalone. I hope you enjoy!

Night had fallen over Skyhold long ago, but the bar remained open, as it always did when the Lady Trevelyan wanted to drink. She'd found that Inquisitors could not only command forces throughout Thedas, but they had a very firm grip on the liquor supply in their immediate vicinity.

Tonight they'd broken into the rarest and best the fortress could offer, in honor of their distinguished guests. She shared her small corner table with Elissa Cousland and Marian Hawke, and they received a level of care that the Orlesian nobility would have envied fiercely, were they ever allowed to find out about it.

At first the bar had been full of people, drinking and gawking at these three legends as best they could. The whispers around them had burned Evelyn, but the other ladies didn't seem to notice. Perhaps they'd had more time to get used to stares. After all, one was nobility turned royalty, and the other had been a Viscountess and was still the most famous apostate in the world.

Evelyn had been a minor noble destined to a life in the Chantry, or possibly a marriage to another minor noble. She was no one of importance and didn't like being the center of whispered attention. At least with these two she was always the least noticed person of the group.

Her friends had helped as well, talking easily with them all, like they were normal people, not pivots upon which history turned. Iron Bull had swapped gory battle stories with Elissa that were still making Evelyn's stomach turn, Sera and Hawke had gotten along like a house on fire, and even Cassandra had deigned to drink a half a glass of ale with solemn ceremony. But eventually the place had emptied, everyone drifting away piece by piece, until it was just the three of them sharing the table. Well, the four of them, until Hawke's pointed look had finally sent Varric out, grumbling about the lost story opportunity.

After that the conversation became softer and wilder in turns, greased by a liberal quantity of brandy.

Evelyn peered over her glass at the two women as she took a small sip. Even the bartender had given up on them an hour back, but he'd left enough bottles at the table to see them through the night. At first she'd protested at the volume, thinking they were more likely to die of alcohol poisoning than by their enemies' plans, but watching Elissa and Hawke go at it, she was glad he hadn't listened.

"How are the two of you still alive?" asked Evelyn. "You're putting this stuff away like it's water."

Elissa smiled slightly. "It's a Grey Warden thing. We just burn it off."

"That can't be it," said Evelyn, frowning. "The King can't hold his liquor at all. Leliana told me about the time he had three glasses of Antivan wine and gave a rousing speech to the kitchen staff about the battle they would soon face for control of the dessert table. If I remember her correctly, he followed it by falling asleep on a bag of flour, then woke up with a cat having kittens next to him. He had such a bad headache that he couldn't move and had to live through the entire birthing process at very close quarters."

Hawke laughed, loudly enough that the bar's last remaining occupants snapped to attention. They were seated across the room, tightly ringed like villagers huddled against a storm, and they were drinking with far less purpose than the women. Evelyn studied their faces and winced. Alistair looked nervous, Cullen resigned, and Fenris stony.

Hawke gave them a small wave and a grin, and they snapped back just as quickly. "They think we're talking about them. Adorable."

"Well, we are, aren't we?" asked Evelyn.

"That doesn't mean they should be so suspicious of us!"

Evelyn privately thought they were lucky the men had stopped themselves at suspicion, but she kept it to herself.

Elissa took them back to their original topic with her usual abruptness. "Alistair's a Chantry boy. He thinks he should get drunk, so he gets drunk. I've tried to talk him out of it, but he's stubborn."

Her voice was irritated, but her eyes held a soft light that was rarely present. Evelyn was glad to see it, even briefly. The Queen of Ferelden wasn't known for her easy temper.

The royal took another long pull, then refilled her mug. "Really, though, the power we accept makes it hard to get truly drunk. Another sacrifice of the Wardens that they don't exactly advertise."

"And I just have a lot of practice," said Hawke. Her eyes were full of mischief, as always. Varric had said the sun would fall into the sea before Hawke ever took anything seriously. "You travel through Tevinter's taverns getting intel long enough, you learn to drink with the best. Just don't ask me to play Wicked Grace. I always cheat more when I'm drinking."

"You'll get no argument from me," said Evelyn. "I doubt we could talk Cullen into it anyway. Last time we held a game he lost a lot more than his shirt to Josephine."

Hawke grinned. "That's what he gets for trying to outfox an Antivan. They have no scruples." She eyed the Commander speculatively. "Can't say I'm not sorry I missed it though. Now that he's relaxed a little, not so likely to yell blood mage at the drop of a hat, he's definitely more alluring."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "You think he's relaxed?"

"Oh Maker, yes. You should have known him when he was a Templar. Wound tighter than an Arishok with a crooked horn," said Hawke. "I mean, I know he went through a lot, but I got the sense he hadn't exactly been working off a spontaneous personality even before then."

The Queen nodded her agreement. "We met under difficult circumstances, of course, but he was painfully formal even in anger. He'll never give Zevran or your Dorian any challenge for easy charm, but he laughs now at least." She tipped her cup to Evelyn. "Your influence, I imagine."

"I haven't done much," she muttered, blushing. They were still fruitlessly trying to keep their hesitant romance under wraps, and in truth it hadn't proceeded much beyond casual. She would never admit to these powerful, knowing women that they'd done little more than kiss lightly on the battlements and share a few looks over the War Table.

"The man is utterly smitten with you, Inquisitor. My advice? Don't waste his loosened tongue tonight," said Hawke. Her eyes sparkled. "Take it from me, the outwardly chaste ones are the most inventive lovers. Don't you agree, Your Highness?"

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Really, Hawke, the poor girl doesn't need to hear your lengthy stories of sexual conquest. She'll never set foot in a bedroom again. Besides, if you start, Fenris will know what you're talking about. He always does. And then he'll roar over here, and you'll both be embarrassing again. Just like you were at that Arlessa's combat tournament when you ran Kirkwall."

"We didn't do anything improper!"

"No, you didn't do anything indecent. Impropriety abounded. Thank the Maker Fenris had enough sense to take you inside the house before you got his clothes off."

Hawke grinned. "What can I say? He brings out the worst in me. He's just such a stimulating fighter." She drank deeply and waggled her eyebrows. "And he doesn't need any Templar training to control my magic."

Evelyn wouldn't ask. She cast about for another topic and said the first thing that came to mind. "So does sex actually make him smile, ever, or does he have a permanent frown etched onto him along with the lyrium?"

Maker's breath, what was wrong with her? She clapped her hands over her mouth and stared into her glass in horror.

"Ha! I knew we'd crack that prissy outer shell eventually," said Hawke. "And the answer is, yes and no. He doesn't have to smile to let me know that he's pleased. In fact, it's sometimes better if he doesn't."

Hawke turned to Elissa. "How about Alistair? You ever get him to be serious or is it a comedy routine throughout?"

"I might as well ask the same about you."

"Pffft. You're no fun. You've got kids, and we've shared a few campsites, so I know that you don't have a sexless marriage. How are we going to accurately roleplay Ferelden royalty without any inside information?" Hawke drained her glass again and poured another, slightly wobbly mugful. "It's funny. You and I got the wrong men, didn't we? You and Fenris are so stern, and Alistair and I are never serious. Maybe I should start copying your style. It might make him happier."

Her voice roughened in a way that had both Evelyn and Elissa leaning forward. "Is that what this is about?" asked the Queen. "I wondered. Despite what you said, you never used to drink this much."

Hawke nodded wearily, toying with the handle of her mug. "I'm losing him, and I don't know why, and I can't fix it. Serves me right, I guess, after trying to run so many of my friends' love lives for them. I'm no matchmaker. Isabella has yet to forgive me for trying to make her and Sebastian into a happy ending."

"Have you asked him about it?" asked Evelyn.

"Not a chance. Every time I've even started to try, we just end up in bed. And it's good. It always is. But more and more it's all there is." She sighed. "We haven't had a very traditional romance, from what I hear. I wouldn't know. I've never had one before. We got together because he hated me and my magic so much that he couldn't resist having me. We stay together because neither of us can give up having the other. Maybe something like that always burns out in the end."

"Maker give me strength," said Elissa flatly, "for I sit in the presence of the dumbest woman in Thedas. If this were just sex, you'd both have moved on long ago. You're no stranger to casual flirtations, and from what little he's shared about his life in Tevinter, sex as a concept holds about as much appeal to him as diplomatic flatteries do to me. I know something about love. Trust me, there's more there."

Hawke laid her forehead on the table and groaned. "You and Alistair are so perfect. It's an absolutely unfair example to set for the rest of us. Royals are supposed to be stuffy and polite to each other, not fairy tales."

"It's no fairy tale, Champion. It's work, and a lot of it. The fact that you're willing to do the work when you have to is what makes the times when you don't so good."

Elissa gestured to Evelyn, clearly looking for her to speak. She stared back blankly, and the Queen narrowed her eyes. And the look in them reminded Evelyn very clearly that Elissa was still wearing her sword.

She cleared her throat. "Um, I know almost nothing about love. But I'm good at body language. When you fight from the shadows, you get really quick at reading what people's bodies are telling you. And Fenris is more aware of you as a person than anyone I've ever seen. If you walk into a room where he's sitting, his entire demeanor changes. It's like watching a hound scent a target. He turns towards you, inside, even when you never get close enough to touch him. Even when you never even look at each other."

Evelyn glanced across the room and smiled. "He's doing it now. He's thinking about getting up to come over here because you're slumped over. He's not even facing this way, but he still knows."

Hawke straightened quickly, staring determinedly at her hands. She raised her glass off the table again to drink, then threw it into the air as a figure appeared next to her. "Andraste's ass!"

Cole never moved, but Elissa pushed away from the table ready to fight. Alistair rose from his seat while Fenris glowed blue, already on edge. Cullen held them both by an arm, talking to them in low and urgent tones, and Evelyn hoped he could calm them down. For herself, she only looked at Cole calmly. "We talked about not doing that."

"I know, but it's so loud in here. I couldn't think," said Cole. He focused on Hawke. "When you're gone he tries to picture you, but he only sees your back. Your face is hazy, always turned away, and he worries there will be a time when he won't remember how your mouth moves when you smile or how your eyes can hold his from across the room. His body remembers the hellos, but his mind can only see the goodbyes. You scare him. He doesn't want to be a slave."

Brandy dripped from Hawke's black hair as she breathed heavily. Evelyn was glad she'd resisted making fire, or they'd be dealing with a charred mage instead of just a doused one. "He's not a slave," she whispered. She darted her eyes at the elf nervously. "I would never make him stay with me."

"Yes, you never would. But what about what he makes himself? He doesn't know what else to be. Only you can show him he doesn't wear chains," said Cole. Hawke nodded slowly, biting her lip, and he relaxed and turned back to Evelyn. "I'm sorry for the scare and for the brandy that's on the floor instead of in a cup. I will try not to do that again. I just wanted it to be quiet."

He vanished.

The two guests sat again, gingerly. The men across the room did the same, much more slowly, as Hawke reclaimed her mug from the floor. Evelyn gave them all a shaky smile that she knew convinced them not a wit.

Elissa huffed a breath. "Well, I don't pretend to understand ghosts, but it seems like a solid lead to me. You'd scare me if I were your lover. You aren't at all careful, Hawke. And the two of you spend a lot of time apart."

"He's always the one freeing slaves in Tevinter without me," she protested, but there was no energy behind it.

"And you're the one who went into the Fade and could have easily died without so much as a word to him. I did my share of that, once. It doesn't help a man feel secure in your affection. I'm leaving in a week, and Alistair is going to Denerim without me. You know why we seem so perfect? Because I'll tell him a thousand times before I go that I love him. Even when I'm frustrated or tired. Especially then." Elissa's eyes were cold now, battle-ready. "Have you told Fenris that even once?"

"Of course! Not those exact words, but he knows." Hawke grinned, back to her old playfulness. "It would be hard for him not to by now."

Evelyn cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Pardon my innocence, but would this communication be entirely nonverbal, sex communication?"

Hawke nodded slightly.

"I'm not sure that really counts," said Evelyn.

"I agree," said Elissa. "Words speak louder than actions in this case. Tell him. Now. Best do it here so you don't cheat it into another round in bed."

"Here?" Hawke paled. "In front of the Maker and everyone?"

"Everyone being four other people in an otherwise empty bar?" asked Evelyn, amused. She couldn't stop a smile. "I think you'll survive. I heard you killed an Arishok once. I'll call him over, if you'd like."

She motioned to Cullen, and he rose instantly. The men picked up their mugs and walked across the room towards them.

"The Arishok was a pushover," muttered Hawke, smoothing her hands over her robe.

"You needed something?" asked Cullen. His cheeks were flushed slightly from alcohol, but his voice was the same smooth baritone it always was. Evelyn felt herself reddening under his gaze, and she cursed Hawke for putting ideas in her head.

Alistair sat on the bench next to his wife, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek that made her smile. Fenris took the spot next to Hawke, which left Cullen no choice but to sit next to his Inquisitor, which he did with a weak smile. As the two public couples leaned into each other, she fidgeted uncomfortably and finished her ale. The bench wasn't that big, and his leg pressed against hers no matter how much she shifted.

Alistair interrupted her agony. "Is it something to do with the whatever it was that popped in here? Since my adorable wife of impeccable judgment didn't run it through with her sword, I'm content to let it live as well, but I certainly would like to know more about it. Cullen said it was some kind of living spirit?"

Evelyn nodded and immediately regretted it as the room tilted. "Cole is a spirit of compassion who came through the Fade as himself and took a living form. I'm assured he's unique, and he's been very helpful to us. Very loyal. I trust him with my life. But he can be a little alarming."

Fenris snorted. "'Alarming'. You realize he could turn into a demon at any point?"

"That's not true," said Evelyn, bristling. She stopped short when Cullen put his on her knee under the table, not only because of the silent command for quiet. She focused on breathing.

"We've taken steps, at his request, to keep that from happening," said Cullen. "He's asked us to kill him several times if he changes. Cole knows the dangers better than anyone, and he's accepted the consequences of failure. That's worthy of our respect."

"If you need any volunteers to swing the blade, I'm available," said Fenris, but he relaxed a little. Evelyn realized that was his version of a joke and started to think maybe Hawke had a point about their personalities.

As soon as she thought it, Elissa leaned forward. "It wasn't about Cole. Hawke has something to say."

Her voice was light but the set of her jaw was definitely hard. Alistair's face went from smiling to terrified as he looked between the two women. "My dear, you haven't been ordering people around again, have you? We came here to show support for the Inquisition, not take it over."

Elissa slashed a look at him, and he quickly added, "Not that you wouldn't look breathtaking in their formal attire, of course. Bright red fabric with buttons all over is what I've always pictured you in."

"I don't give orders. I make suggestions," said Elissa.

Cullen couldn't contain a snort, and Evelyn giggled lightly. Alistair kicked them both under the table. The Queen's face didn't change. "My suggestions only sound like orders to people who are too foolish to think of the proper path themselves."

"Yes, I can see the complete lack of command in that sentiment. Well, let's hear it then," said Alistair.

They all turned to Hawke, who squirmed like she was trying to work her way through the bench below her and escape through the floor. It was so very like how her young cousins looked when they'd been caught stealing food that Evelyn couldn't help but laugh again. Fenris growled at her unexpectedly, a clear rebuke, and Cullen tensed. His hand was still on her knee, and she felt a tug in her lower belly when it tightened. She bit her lip and put her hand over his. He glanced over at her and relaxed, lacing their fingers together.

Fenris hadn't looked away from Hawke even during his reprimand. The mage drank again, deeply, before speaking. "It's been pointed out to me that I haven't always been the best at communicating. Especially about feelings. Yes. There are some who might say that."

"Half of Kirkwall would say it. The other half already has," Evelyn heard at a whisper behind her, and she knew it was Varric. No one else seemed to notice, and she struggled to keep her face straight. She took another drink to cover the smile.

Hawke went on without pausing. "And I, well, that is, some people, thought it was time that I overcame my maidenly shyness and brought my insides to the outside. Not my actual insides, then we would need a healer, but the insides that have the feelings in them. Right. So that's what I'm trying to do. Now. Does that make sense?"

The Queen put a hand to her forehead and sighed. The rest of the table stared intensely at their glasses and fought off laughter.

"I assume this is about me. So are you breaking off our relationship or proposing marriage?" asked Fenris. "Right now, it could go either way."

"Neither! Maker's breath," said Hawke. Her voice held a note of terror before she rushed back into speech. "Unless you want to get married? I didn't think that you were a person who uh, wanted that. Sort of thing. Do you?"

"If I did want it, would you do it?" asked Fenris mildly.

Evelyn glanced up sharply and saw a smile ghost across the elf's lips. Hawke was busy staring at the floor and didn't notice. She wriggled even more uncomfortably, squeaking and stammering about how she'd never really considered it. The mumbled explanations went on for several minutes and grew more incoherent as the time passed, until her face was redder than Varric's hair and dismay carried clear and bright on it.

Cullen broke his silence. "By the Maker, stop torturing the poor woman. Mages have rights in the walls of Skyhold, you know. No excessive punishment."

Hawke's head snapped up, a glare fixed on her face. Fenris smiled, a this time it was a real smile. "If you could have seen your face."

The mage punched him in the arm, and he smiled even more broadly. He took her face in his hands and kissed her with a heat that made Evelyn shift in her seat. Cullen coughed next to her, but his thumb rubbed slow circles over her palm. She held back a longing sigh.

Fenris pulled back, serious. "I don't want to marry you, Hawke. That would make us both miserable. And I'm not with you for romantic speeches. Don't worry about it."

He dropped his hands, and the Champion's eyes grew mutinous. She crossed her arms. "I'll worry about whatever I want, elf. Don't tell me what to do. And right now I'm going to worry about this. I love you. Okay?"

Alistair muttered into his glass, "Definitely not a romantic speech."

"I'm sure Varric will clean it up," Evelyn whispered back.

The King winked at her. "I hope so. I've been looking for a new book to read. It's hard to while away the long nights when my Hero abandons me."

"Be quiet, or you'll know from abandonment," said Elissa absently. Alistair schooled his face into an unconvincing display of seriousness. Fenris and Hawke acknowledged none of it, only stared at each other. Evelyn watched, fascinated, waiting to see who would win their silent war of dominance.

Eventually Hawke stood with a sigh. "Come on. You win." Her voice was resigned, but her eyes sparkled with her usual mischief.

"An inevitable outcome," said Fenris. He took her outstretched hand and swung himself up beside her. His hand found her waist, and he made no attempt to lower his voice. "Especially tonight. Or did you think I'd miss the chance to make you say it as often as I want? You know I can."

"We'll see."

"We certainly will." He spoke to the table without looking. "Thanks for the drinks."

They left with more speed than was polite, and Evelyn saw a short shadow follow them. She hoped Varric didn't get his head twisted around the wrong way, but she had to admit she couldn't wait to read about what happened. A long distance away from the glowing elf.

"Better her than me," she said with a laugh. Cullen released her hand, and she winced. Her mouth was certainly on fire tonight.

Elissa looked at them sympathetically and said nothing, and the rest of them all finished their drinks in silence.

Just as she was about to head to her chambers herself, Alistair spoke. "So what's it like, Inquisitor?" He tipped his head at the hand around her glass. "It must be hard to carry so much."

She shrugged. "You get used to it, I guess. Besides, it's not like I'm the only one here carrying something that makes life harder."

"My crown comes off my head, though. I can leave whenever I want," said Alistair. Elissa snarled softly, and he glanced at her. "I wouldn't, of course, but I could. I'm told you're not in the same position."

"I didn't mean your crowns, though I'm sure ruling a country is no small task. But how easily can you walk away from being a Grey Warden? Or a Templar?" She looked at them all in turn. "We all have parts of ourselves that we weren't born with. Ones that we can't erase."

Still he pressed. "True enough. But we chose these lives. You didn't."

She shook her head. "Make no mistake, Your Majesty. I did choose this. I reached down to stop something dangerous that came towards me, and I picked it up. It's what life is. If I didn't know the risks of what I was doing, well, how much did you know before you joined the Order? Cullen certainly didn't understand what being a Templar really meant until it was too late to do anything about it."

Cullen's gaze was hot on her face, but she didn't turn away from the King. She needed him to understand, even if she didn't know why. She waved her hands to encompass the bar around them. "And as for this, I choose it every day. I may have to bear the anchor, but I don't have to be the Inquisitor. Corypheus or no, Breach or no, they ask and I answer. Every day. It's that simple."

"There's nothing simple about service to so many," said Elissa. "Choices aren't always easy."

"How to serve isn't simple. But deciding to move forward instead of sit and sulk? That's the easiest thing in the world." Evelyn drummed her fingers on the table. "Why are you so curious, anyway? I'd think you'd understand this already."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Ferelden supports the Inquisition, if only because Leliana would break my arm if we didn't, but you're a hard woman to get a sense of. Your insides stay on your insides, as Hawke would say. You've done a lot of good. You've made mistakes. I expect that will continue. I wanted to know how much I could trust you." He grinned. "You're too powerful not to interrogate a little when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," she said. She tried to stand and swayed a little. Cullen stood and steadied her. She leaned on him and frowned. "I'm just tired."

Elissa looked out the window. "As well you should be. Not far off dawn now, I think." She stood herself, perfectly steady, and Evelyn envied her. She pulled at her husband's arm. "Come on. It's time for bed."

"As my Queen commands," he said, jumping up into a perfect escort position. They walked away as gracefully as if they were in their own court, a solemn sight ruined only by the broad smile on the King's face.

Cullen shook his head. "It's hard to believe the nobility still accepts him. Let's go, Inquisitor. I'll get you back to your quarters in one piece."

The cold air woke her up a little, and she wasn't listing quite so badly once they made it to the Hall. She kept leaning on Cullen anyway, enjoying his nearness. Hawke's advice ran through her mind as they walked across the stone floor, and again as they reached her door, and again as they climbed the steps to her quarters. He stopped on the landing outside and gave her a curious look when she didn't open her door. Curious, but with a slight smile that broke down any thought she had about her own better judgement.

Evelyn pulled him to her and kissed him thoroughly before she had a chance to reconsider. He didn't protest, and she took that as permission to push harder. He responded with equal heat, and they spent several minutes pressed against the wall in delicious closeness. He tasted like brandy and his body felt like granite underneath her wandering hands.

When they broke for air, she smiled. "That was nice."

Cullen released a slow breath over her. "That's one word for it, yes," he said. He pushed away with a sigh. "Good night, Your Grace."

She couldn't resist calling after him when he reached the stairs. "Do you want to come in?"

"Don't tempt me," he said, turning back with narrowed eyes. "It's late and you're tipsy and you need sleep more than even I do. This isn't a good night for anything… delicate."

"I agree," she said. She grinned in her most Hawke-like way and emphasized her words carefully. "But do you want to?"

He smiled then. "More than I would ever admit to anyone but you." He turned away and walked down the stairs. "Go to bed!"

Evelyn laughed as she hiked up the final flight of stairs, feeling lighter than she had in days. She fell into bed fully clothed and drifted away. Before the Fade claimed her, she thought drowsily, _Elissa and Alistair may be perfect love, and Hawke and Fenris may be perfect sex, but Cullen is the perfect gentleman._ She made a note to tell him that, one day, and she fell asleep smiling.


	2. Dorian

Dorian sighed as he walked into the tavern, his usual sanguinity deserting him as he saw the centers of attention. He'd promised Evelyn he'd put in an appearance and entertain her distinguished guests, but he wished he'd asked who the guests were beforehand. Hawke was a lovely woman with a talent for wordplay that warmed his heart, but her lover was more likely to rip his heart out than warm it. It wasn't as though Fenris didn't have his reasons, given his abominable treatment at the hands of one of the Arcanum's finest, but it didn't make him a safe or an entertaining fellow.

Except in Antiva. Murder was always entertainment in Antiva.

Dorian paused at the door. The crush of people inside prevented easy entry, and he wondered hopefully if he could get away with leaving but pretending he'd been there later. Unfortunately Iron Bull's height made him a traitor. When the Quanari called, "There's the Vint!" loudly enough to shake the entire Frostbacks, Dorian knew he was stuck.

Evelyn whirled around with a huge grin, and Dorian sighed again before plastering a return smile on his face. Friendship was a lot more sacrificial than he'd realized.

His smile became more genuine after he wound his way through the chattering crowd. Bull had a drink waiting for him, the good Tevinter stuff, and he drank from it quickly. "Such a warm welcome, thank you. But you'll spoil me with all of this kindness and consideration."

"Hey, it was her idea." Bull jerked his head at Evelyn. "She thought you might need a little lubrication. I just volunteered to keep watch. Besides, I figure tolerable Vints are rare enough that the ones you find should be cultivated."

Krem spoke up from a nearby table. "Cultivated? I'm no gardener, boss, but being hit with a shield over and over again doesn't feel much like cultivation. Feels more like what you would do to a nasty weed."

"No, with you I'm trying to teach you a damn lesson about how not to get your sorry ass killed," said Bull over his shoulder. His second-in-command saluted with an obscene gesture and turned back to Scout Harding.

Bull clapped Dorian on the back. "So, you here to entertain the fine people?"

He grimaced. "For what I'm worth. I'm not feeling very suave this evening."

"I've no doubt you'll rise to the occasion. You usually do when I'm around," said Bull. Dorian rolled his eyes but couldn't stop a smile. "Not tonight, though. There's a new girl working the kitchens. Redhead. You know."

"Yes, yes, no need to wax poetic. I'll somehow survive without you." Dorian eyed the cluster of people in front of him. "Any tips on how I should fulfill my social duties?"

Bull ticked them off on his fingers. "Hawke already loves you. Steer clear of the glowy elf and don't do any blood magic. Alistair's nice but easily shocked, so go easy on the innuendo. They've got an elf with them, too, haven't seen him yet, but you'll probably know what to do with him. And the other woman, don't worry about it. I've got her covered." He grinned. "She's got red hair, too."

Dorian choked on his drink. "Alistair. As in King Alistair? And the 'other woman' being the Hero?" He glared at Bull balefully. "How did I not know about this? I would have worn something with a little more flair."

"It was a surprise visit, I guess."

"Nothing is a surprise in Skyhold."

"Well yeah, not to the Nightingale. But to everyone else," said Bull. "Why does it matter? You've met royalty before."

"At an elaborate ball during which I looked, if I say so myself, impeccable. Not in a dingy tavern in whatever I happened to be wearing."

Bull laughed. "You can take the mage out of the Imperium, but you can't beat the snob out of him with a big stick. I wouldn't worry about it too much. They don't seem to stand on ceremony. And the Ben-Hassrath have a file on the Queen. It mostly lists the ways you shouldn't mess with her," he said. He took a drink and stage-whispered, "There are a lot of ways."

Dorian peered through the crowd curiously. "Someone the mighty Qunari are afraid of? Now I am intrigued."

"Not afraid. But you don't have to be afraid of a dragon to know that you don't want to poke it unless you're ready for a fight. She traveled with one of ours in the Blight. Kind of a weird guy, but respected. He had a lot of dark stories about her. She's killed all kinds of people in very nasty, very thorough ways. And he didn't even include the part where she killed an arch-demon, lived, then settled a bastard and herself on the throne of an entire country. She doesn't mess around."

A man's voice rose up beside them. "She also eats one dragon's heart a month, just to keep her hand in. Fresh-killed, of course. A stale dragon heart is even worse than Orleisan food."

Dorian started and turned to look at the newcomer. A pleasant, handsome, Fereldan face smiled at them both, and he felt his heart sinking. The man waved cheerily. "Alistair, bastard king of Ferelden, Grey Warden, and husband to a terrifying wife. Titles not listed in order of importance. Nice to meet you."

Nothing to do but ride with the swells. "Dorian Pavus. I think I've seen you on a coin."

"I wasn't aware that Ferelden currency was allowed in the Imperium," said Alistair. "I always get the impression from their envoys that the stuff bursts into flame as soon as it crosses the border. They certainly don't like to handle it without gloves."

"I'm fortunate enough to be a little more cosmopolitan in my views. Though the Magisters would likely say I'm less cosmopolitan." He shrugged. "Just don't ask me my opinions on Ferelden hygiene, and we'll get along fine."

Iron Bull broke in. "Definitely don't ask him about it. Unless I'm out of earshot. I've heard the speech way too many times."

"Warning received. I promise not to bring it up if you promise not to tell your spymaster about the crack I made about Orlesian food," said Alistair. He sobered. "The Inquisitor told me you had a friend who died from the Blight. I'm sorry to hear that. I wish we could have stopped it."

Felix. Dorian's heart tightened, but he responded lightly, "Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate the sentiment, but it wasn't your fault."

"Alistair, please. I like to forget who I am every once in a while. And as a Grey Warden, all the deaths are my fault. In one way or another. Anyway, I wanted to say it."

Hawke sidled up to them and put on an exaggerated frown. Sera rose like an evil sunrise behind her, and Dorian was gratified to see Alistair's face draw into panic. "So many serious faces over here. Unacceptable!" said the mage.

She stood on her toes to kiss Dorian's cheek, and he looked around reflexively for Fenris. "Relax, he's off annoying Varric. Or maybe the other way around. In any case, I can't let you flirt with royalty in such a gloomy fashion. As your friend, I forbid it."

Dorian leveled a warning glare at her while Alistair colored. "Believe me, Hawke, when I flirt with someone you'll all know it. And everyone involved will be smiling."

Bull pushed away from the wall. "They really, really will. Now, I'm off to tell a certain redhead a good story."

He, at least, walked away without effort. Everyone got out of the way of a giant man with horns.

"Make it a bloody one, she'll love it!" Alistair called after him.

"No kidding, yeah? Never seen a noble who'd sooner stomp on her own kind than mine," said Sera. "Catch her letting mad people kill a bunch of servants in her palace for stupid politics. Might have stuck around Denerim if I'd known."

Alistair winced. "Well, another noble family did kill almost everyone at her home in Highever in the early days of the Blight."

"Yeah, she told us. But instead of going out and trying to kill all the people in some other stupid castle to swing back, she found the big boots and stabbed him right in the face, didn't she? No games. Doesn't mean it's good, but it's good for a noble. Won't be humbling you anytime soon if you keep her around. Not much anyway."

"Humbling me?" asked Alistair, looking a little pale.

"Don't worry, nothing too big. But if you find salt in your sugar bowl, just remember the name. Sera." The elf grinned. "We did that to the Inquisitor the other day, before she had her first coffee. Classic!"

Hawke laughed. "Oh I wish I'd seen that. She's so grumpy in the morning already."

"I know, right? She spit it out all over herself right in front of everyone. Had to change, made some fussy dignitary have to wait for her. We got a good laugh out of it."

Alistair murmured, "Dorian, please remind me to take my coffee black as long as I'm in Skyhold."

Dorian was relieved that the man didn't seem too thrown by the implication of his sexual preferences. Or perhaps it was just royal manners. He opened his mouth to reply when Alistair interrupted him. "Ah, Leliana finally made it. Now it's a party."

Dorian turned towards the door, mildly surprised at his familiarity. But of course, Leliana knew the rulers of Ferelden, quite well. He'd known it without really thinking about it.

She looked a little less severe than usual, a little younger, and he wondered for the first time what she'd been like all those years ago. It seemed impossible that she'd been anything other than the taciturn spymaster she'd become, and yet she must have been delicately raised to be so well-mannered. A blonde elf stepped in behind her, graceful and attractive, and he moved to a new train of thought. "Who's that with her?"

"Hm? Oh, that's Zevran. Another friend from the bad old days. Well, I say friend, but he definitely tried to kill us a few times. Now he's our bodyguard. Sort of."

Dorian couldn't decide which part of that to unpack, so he sidestepped it. "Please tell me he's not from Tevinter, too."

Hawke chuckled, and Alistair nodded knowingly. "Fenris isn't in your fan club, I take it? Don't worry, Zevran is from Antiva. No reason to hate mages that I'm aware of." He paused. "But he was a Black Crow, so try not to give him a reason to start."

Dorian's blood ran cold. The assassin's guild. Not nice people, by all accounts, and very good at killing magisters whose friends decided they were no longer needed.

"Was?" asked Sera. "What, can you retire from killing people for money?"

"They had some creative differences," said Hawke. "Now the Crows just try to kill him for free."

"Ugh. Politics." Sera looked around nervously as Leliana got closer. "I think I'm going to be somewhere else. I may have on-purpose glued her stuff to her desk." The elf took off, with Hawke following closely and demanding details.

Leliana threw her arms around Alistair when she got close enough, laughing happily. Dorian laid his hand over his mouth in mock surprise. "My dear, I didn't know you had it in you. Such wanton displays of joy will surely get you tossed out of any reasonable spying circles."

"Oh hush. Old friends are always worth some joy, are they not?" She stepped back and gestured to her companion. "Dorian, Zevran. Zevran, Dorian. Sorry there's no time for more, but I need to ask His Majesty some questions about Ferelden troop support that has still not materialized."

"I think you'll find Elissa is in charge of -" the King began, but stopped at her look. He grinned sheepishly at the other men. "It was worth a try. Lead on."

After they left, Dorian cast about for something to say. "Murdered anyone interesting lately?" seemed to lack the appropriate diplomacy, and talking about the weather was simply out of the question with someone so outwardly appealing. He stroked a finger along his jaw to stall for time.

The elf across from him looked amused. "So, who is it that you think I have killed? I would set your mind at ease, if I can," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"You are clearly a wealthy member of the Arcanum. The chances you've known someone who died under assassinating circumstances are quite high. And you wonder if I did it. I cannot say it's not a possibility, but I will comfort you if I am able."

Well, he certainly didn't lack for bluntness. Dorian cleared his throat. He hadn't been this off-balance in years. "I'm not a member of the Arcanum actually. That would be my father."

"Of course, you are much too beautiful to be so boring," said Zevran. "I'm glad to meet you now, before you endured such a depressing fate."

Dorian responded to the flirtatious tone without thinking, smiling his most wicked smile. His eyes ran over the elf's wiry frame, appreciating what all he wasn't wearing. The elven markings on his face gave the man's cheekbones delicious definition, and he wondered what it would be like to run his fingers over them.

He shook his head to clear it. An Antivan Crow was too dangerous to play with. "There was a man who died once. An entire family, really. Friends of my father's. The man wasn't a complete fool, which is of course what made someone want him dead. They were murdered in their beds, down to the youngest child. Your band is very thorough."

Zevran wrinkled his nose. "An entire family? With young children? Sloppy and unnecessary. I make no claims to an angelic nature, but I would never be so unskilled. Breathe easily."

"But you did work in the Imperium?"

"At times. You are a rich nation with many grudges, and it is very easy there, for an elf. Paint over any facial markings, pretend to be a slave, poof. Invisibility without the potion. The best part is, they don't expect slaves to speak, so accents are of no concern. Well, one of the best parts. Slaves also spend much time in the bed, if they are handsome. And I am very handsome."

"I'm sorry. Your method of assassination was to sleep with someone, then kill them?" asked Dorian, slightly taken aback.

"Blasphemous! My two greatest talents are entirely separate, I assure you. And I utilized only one of them for pay." The elf scanned him leisurely. "It is indeed a shame I was never contracted to kill your father. I would have enjoyed the infiltration, I believe."

To his horror, Dorian felt the faint stirrings of a blush on his cheeks. Talk of violence shouldn't be so enticing. He fought to keep his tones dry. "Yes, it was such a shame having a house without blood spatters on the walls and furnishings. I don't know how I lived it down."

Zevran chuckled politely, but the look in his eyes was anything but polite. He seemed to be waiting for Dorian to respond to the message in them, but he'd never felt less witty in his life. He was used to backroom rendezvous, hands brushing under the table. Flirting discreetly with anyone who moved was a youthful sport in Tevinter, but a public proposition was unheard of. "So tell me, is this licentiousness something they teach you in assassin school? I've only met one other Antivan to speak to, and she's so innocent that babies envy her."

The Antivan took a small step back and looked at the floor. "Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable. I've been traveling so long that I sometimes forget my manners. I did not have the benefit of the gentle upbringing of your Ambassador Montilyet, I'm afraid."

"No, it wasn't that," said Dorian.

His mind flashed back to all of the times his own advances had been scorned. Zevran's only crime was the speed at which he'd successfully moved from flirtation to conquest with a stranger. He didn't deserve to feel rejected. He stepped towards the elf and lowered his voice. "Tevinter just approaches these things in a more roundabout fashion, is all. The bluntness takes a bit of getting used to, here in the south."

"Do not trouble yourself to soothe me. Men like myself are no better than dogs in the street. It was shameful behavior, not fit for polite company, and I regret it terribly. In fact, I should be soundly punished for it. I submit myself to whatever you deem necessary."

Dorian had started to protest but broke off as Zevran continued his speech. A smile tugged on the man's full lips despite his downcast face, and Dorian realized they were standing even closer than they had been before, close enough to brush hands without effort. He crossed his arms. "Oh, I see. A poor-little-me act. Bait for the unwary."

The smile blossomed in full. "And for the wary, at times. It works to a marvel on the chivalrous sort, such as yourself. Admit it, I am quite a good performer," said Zevran. He leaned forward and murmured so quietly that Dorian had to bend his head to his lips. "Besides, I perform even better for an audience."

He rocked back and looked around sharply at the reminder of how many strangers surrounded them. They had the attention of most of them. Krem and Harding were staring at them with unabashed amusement, a woman he assumed was the Queen was shaking her head and smiling in the corner, and even Evelyn looked delighted. This time he really did flush and would have moved away, maybe even left entirely, had Zevran not put a restraining hand on his arm. He tensed at the touch.

"Be easy, Dorian. This is not the Imperium. Nevertheless, I will keep a chaste and pure distance from you, despite the enormous pain it will cause me, if you wish it."

Dorian struggled to get himself under control. Zevran was right. This wasn't the Imperium, and these weren't strangers. They were his friends. Or at least not his enemies. It wasn't as though he and Iron Bull were some great secret. But this was different. Bull was a force of nature behind closed doors, but in public he never pushed and treated everyone outside of his squad with the same mild, vaguely lecherous, interest. The former Crow in front of him was a hunter who saw only one prey, and everyone else knew it. He may as well have stripped Dorian bare in the middle of the room, and he felt very exposed. The trouble was, he was also interested. The strong hand gripping his arm wasn't helping any.

He summoned up what he could of his usual bravado. "Chastity and purity are such wastes in a handsome man. Don't put yourself out on my account." He was rewarded with a spark of heat when Zevran grinned at him. "I realize this may be a silly question, but how did you know I'd even be amenable to you?"

"Zevran always knows. And even if he knows there's no chance, he'll flirt anyway just in case." Hawke materialized again, this time holding three drinks. Dorian grabbed one gratefully and set his empty mug on the nearest table. Zevran took one as well, and Hawke elbowed Dorian in the ribs. "You left him standing here without a drink, you lummox. So much for Imperial manners."

"My company is richer and headier than any spirits could be," he said airily, but he threw an apologetic glance to the other man.

"I agree most fervently. Still, I thank you for the drink anyway," said Zevran. He took a drink, then continued, "She is correct, of course. When you've experienced as much experience as I have, the senses become very finely tuned. For example, I knew immediately when I met this delightful woman that she had eyes for the wrong elf, but I was unable to persuade her to the correct path."

"You're just lucky he didn't dent your head, after he fought so hard to save your life and everything."

"I do not think he was interested in my brand of gratitude for that, Champion, willingly as it would have been bestowed."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Is everything sex with you? I realize this is the darkspawn calling the hurok evil, but don't you get tired of it sometimes?"

"Of the act itself? Never, assuming sufficient rest breaks and hydration. And can I help that I am naturally charming?" The elf's face softened. "But yes, I do have other interests. Cutting down my enemies. Protecting my friends. Seeing Thedas. And occasionally needlepoint. But life is short, as the Crows teach the world. It makes little sense to deny what pleasure it affords. When it presents itself."

He looked at Dorian, then, eyes still teasing, but there was something challenging in them as well. He made up his mind. Zevran wanted him. He was attracted to Zevran. What was the point in dancing around the issue over more drinks?

Even as the thought formed, he hesitated. How did one invite a barely acquaintanced elf to one's quarters without baldly stating it to everyone around him? Tevinter had plenty of code words, but he wasn't sure they'd translate.

"So," Iron Bull said behind him, "Zevran, right? The Queen tells me you're from Antiva. What's the hygiene situation like there?"

Dorian whirled around and gave the quanari an incredulous look, but Bull didn't acknowledge it. Zevran took the question in stride. "Much lavisher than Ferelden's, I'm afraid to say. They are a lovely people, my new countrymen, but they do not appreciate the finer things in life. Or in cleanliness."

"Yeah, so I've heard. At length. Barely a bathtub in the whole nation, according to Vivienne."

"Too true. Even the palace in Denerim is sorely lacking. Only a small washroom, tepid water, and towels so rough they are like sandpaper." The elf gave a delicate shudder. "It is not to be spoken of."

Bull clapped a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "The Vint here complained about the same thing in Skyhold. Bitched so much the boss finally got him some fancy tub for his quarters, just to shut him up. Even got the construction guys to rig up a water source. Luckily he can make the water hot on his own, or he'd just start whining about the temperature."

The Qunari tapped his finger to his cheek in a reasonable imitation of thinking. "Say, I'm guessing with all the traveling you've been doing for the Inquisition, you haven't had a good Antivan bath in a while. A Tevinter one is probably inferior, but better than nothing. Maybe Dorian could let you use it."

Zevran's eyes widened in innocent delight. "That would be marvelous! The dirt on my skin is agonizing." He turned to the mage. "If you wouldn't mind, of course?"

Dorian sighed. So much for subtlety. "I never mind sharing my bounties with the deserving. You're welcome to use it whenever you like."

"Excellent. Let us go now. I'll need your magic fingers." Zevran winked as he drained his glass, then wiggled them in a mage pantomime. "My daggers are deadly, and can make a man very cold, but they are worthless in warming water. I'll just go and tell my sovereigns goodbye."

He danced into the crowd with a flourish, and Hawke giggled as Dorian stared after him. He turned back to Bull with a cutting remark on his lips, then thought better of it. "Thank you for that."

"Hey, Ben-Hassrath, remember? I know what people need." Bull gave him an affectionate smile. "And what you really need is to get over yourself. He seems perfect. Plus, I may have my own mission tonight, but I never leave a man behind."

Dorian saluted sarcastically, finished his own drink, and made for the exit. Zevran emerged only a few minutes later, a broad smile on his face. "Shall we proceed? I look forward to examining the pleasures of your quarters very much."

The elf's voice was pitched lower than it had been, into a silky range that made Dorian shiver in anticipation. He couldn't keep a devilish smile from his face. Zevran's fearlessness really was intoxicating, if terrifying.

The Antivan must have seen it in his eyes. His own darkened considerably, and he pulled Dorian into the shadows of the building. If Dorian had expected anything of a kiss, he'd expected dominance, aggression, maybe even a little mastery. Instead Zevran teased and nibbled at his mouth and neck, holding them apart with light strength and resisting any moves the mage made to increase contact. Just when he was about to resort to magic, the elf pushed him against the wall with his hips, letting the mage feel his desire. And feeling his own, most likely. Dorian hissed, and after one more dainty brush of his lips, Zevran stepped back.

"There. A not-quite-public display of affection. Not so bad as all that, was it?"

Dorian raised his eyebrow while he tried to get his composure back. Out here, away from all of the others, he felt less shame in being direct. "You'd best not be that delicate all the time. I happen to be a very powerful mage, in addition to being obscenely handsome."

"I have no doubt. Fear not. Your powers will not be necessary for me to behave as indelicately as you want me to." Zevran tilted his head to the side. "Except for the water. It chagrins me, but I really would like to use your bath."

Dorian walked towards the stairs, gesturing for the elf to follow. He made sure his arm flexed through the cut in his tunic, and he heard the man hum appreciatively. "As I said, you're welcome to it any time. As long as I'm in the room."


	3. Elissa Cousland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the background for this comes from an Elissa/ Alistair fic I wrote, in which she doesn't tell Alistair about Morrigan's offer of the ritual, and they go through with it behind her back. Their romance takes place post-DA:O. Hopefully that provides enough context!

Elissa Cousland had never held any love for the Chantry or gardens. The Chantry caused as many problems as it solved in Thedas, so a wise ruler steered clear of their helpful suggestions. Gardens were merely groomed nature, and nature was generally cover for ambushes.

Skyhold's designers had, for some reason, combined both of the loathsome things into one courtyard, so it was hardly surprising she hadn't visited it in her week there. Zevran disliked snakes and schoolteachers, and if they'd had a courtyard full of those, he certainly wouldn't have entered it. Her lack of interest in enduring obvious torture was hardly anything anyone needed to mention, in her opinion.

She slumped back into the cushioned chair. Alistair's morning accusation floated through her mind, gentle and inescapable. He'd called her a coward in his best almost-teasing tones, hard enough to get his message across but not so hard as to rile her to combat readiness. It was a delicate line, one he was an expert at these days. Some women might have been annoyed at a husband who'd mastered the boundaries of their moods so adroitly, but she was grateful. It saved a lot of wear and tear on the weaponry.

And Maker be damned, he was right. She was a coward.

The courtyard held a Chantry, which was annoying, and it grew some plants, which were ridiculous, but neither were what drove her away. She'd avoided it like a Blight because of the other things it held - a dark-haired mage, Chasind and devious, and a little boy, carrying a piece of something that should have died a long time ago.

She wondered if he looked like his father, if he had the same easy smile or hazel eyes that never looked serious enough to suit. Would she recognize his spirit? Would she see the future version of her own son, now only five, and perfect, and so very far away from her so very much of the time?

That was the fear she ran from. She didn't want to see Alistair living inside of a strange child as she saw him inside of her own.

It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. He'd never desired Morrigan in any sense, even as a traveling companion, and their coupling had only been to save Elissa's life. Or that had been the goal for him. For Morrigan it had been a way of acquiring something she wanted, as everything she did was.

Elissa's lip curled sourly. She knew she was being unfair to the apostate, who'd proven not only brave but helpful. She'd done everything Elissa had asked of her during the Blight, save leaving Alistair a virgin, and she was here helping the Inquisition just as ably from what Evelyn had said. It wasn't fair to hate her. But so many things weren't fair.

Alistair had seen them, of course, almost immediately upon their arrival. He had no grudge to carry, and she supposed his curiosity about his child was natural enough. It didn't bother that he'd followed it to its end. What bothered her was that he refused to talk to her about it in even the broadest terms. He wanted her to see them on her own, not use him as an intermediary, though she didn't know why he cared. His stubbornness on the issue was as annoying as it was perplexing.

She shook her head slightly, trying to get her husband's pointed voice out of her head. So what if she was a coward, here, now? She'd never run from anything in her life. She deserved one weakness. Let it be this.

She looked at the mosaics around her in the curved room, trying to lose herself inside of them. They were breathtaking, communicating deep feelings through the simple lines and vibrant colors the artist had chosen. Their apostate elf had created them, they'd said, and she wondered where he'd learned his craft. The Dalish she'd met had been uninterested in art that wasn't worn. She got the feeling that they considered it a burden to have to carry useless paper with them, and they were too cautious to leave things behind. But clearly this Solas had found something beautiful inside of him that would last.

At the thought, a slight figure came down the stairs and into the room. She half-rose out of her chair when she saw it was an elf. Probably Solas, and she was certainly intruding.

As he came closer, she realized he wasn't Dalish at all, from the lack of markings on his face. Even more curious. Mages in Circles were allowed to make art, if they chose, but no one had ever spoken about the apostate like he'd come from a Circle. Perhaps he was Chasind. Either way, she was in his private space.

"Solas?" she asked, and he nodded. "I'm Elissa. I apologize for resting here, but the pictures drew me in before I knew I would stop. They're beautiful, truly. But I'll leave, if you want."

He waved her offer aside with a slight movement. "You're kind to speak of my work so, and kindness can never be unwelcome in these times. Please, stay as long as you like. I must warn you, I'm not always considered a good host. I tend to get lost in my work."

"Thank you for the invitation, which I gladly accept, but don't trouble yourself to entertain me. Pretend I'm not here. My thoughts are more than enough to keep me occupied."

"Is that so?" he asked, studying her. "Worries plague you, then?"

She shrugged. "No more than anyone else."

"I see." To her surprise, he walked out of the room without another word. At least he'd been honest about his lack of gracious hosting.

She settled back to wrestle her mind into submission again. Before she'd made any headway, Solas returned with a tray holding a pot of liquid and two cups. He set them on the table next to her, then took his own seat on the other side of it. He poured a drink for them both, and she smelled it before drinking it.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She'd expected tea, but this had a much more pleasant, fuzzed taste to it.

"Does this have alcohol in it?"

He smiled. "It contains many things, including alcohol. It's a very old recipe, mostly forgotten in Thedas, but it's very soothing." He took a drink himself. "Please don't tell anyone about it. They think it's simply a nasty tea that I drink, and I'd hate for them to learn the truth."

"Of course you have my silence, in payment for the gift. How did you find the recipe?"

"I learned it from my wanderings in the Fade. You'd be amazed at what some spirits remember of the past."

"You wander the Fade? On purpose?" Elissa set the glass down on the table with an audible thump. "That's incredibly dangerous. What if a spirit takes over your mind? Do you even have Templar support while you do it?"

His eyes flashed. "What makes you think your human Templars can deal with anything I cannot? The Fade is only dangerous to those with limited understanding of their purpose. I am in no danger at all."

She snorted. "I've heard that before. Usually right before I have to cut off an abomination's head."

"Believe me or no. It makes little difference. Your race is quick to judge and slow to understand."

Elissa sensed real hurt under his smooth tones, and any offense she felt was lost in the opportunity to pry beneath the surface. "You follow a human, though. Why, if you despise us so much?"

"I do not despise you. I am frustrated by you, yes, but you don't hate a child for her lack of knowledge. You attempt to instruct her. The Inquisitor is a rare human, one who wishes to learn. Perhaps there will be more, in time," said Solas. He took a drink and rubbed his forehead. "Forgive me. I should not have expected you to accept me so easily as she does."

At that, she bristled. "Are you saying that I'm an inferior human?"

"Not inferior. Only different. Evelyn trusts more easily, is slower to anger than I believe you to be." He smiled again. "In truth, I've been hoping to meet you for some time. The spirits tell your story in many places, but they are only reflections of the past, murky and imperfect. The picture they painted was fascinating, though, and your fire does not disappoint."

"You can see me, in the Fade?"

"Not you. Spirits emulating you. You have been the point on which many battles turn. Ostagar. Redcliffe. Denerim. Small or large, pivotal to one or all, you burn at their center. Whether oppressor or savior they cannot say, but they know you are the most alive of any warrior when you fight, and they clamor to hold your life."

She harrumphed into her cup as she picked it up and sipped again. It really was very soothing, and it smoothed out her edges a little. "I'm not sure I like that there are things out there telling my bloody story to wandering Fade visitors. I am slightly more than just a warrior. Sometimes."

"There are other stories. Your wedding, attended by the smallest, softest spirits in the Fade. The births of your children, pain and joy. They see small moments and large. I have seen the same." Solas paused. "And I know whose child stands in the courtyard you refuse to visit. I saw that moment, too."

"I don't know what you mean," she said automatically, but he only stared at her with too much knowledge. She sighed in defeat. "Why would the spirits care about that night?"

"I've asked myself the same question, with less than satisfying conclusions. He is a King, and spirits enjoy the power of a monarch. She is a powerful witch, and she used magic that hadn't been seen in quite some time. Even I was not familiar with all of it."

Solas shook his head angrily. "But there was something else. Something about it that was important that they couldn't explain to me. I still don't understand."

She finished the drink. He looked slightly blurry in her eyes, and she wondered what exactly was in it. She hadn't felt this tipsy in a very long time. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you slip something in my drink so that I would be willing to answer your question?"

He looked at the floor. "There is nothing in it but what is usually there. However, without a tolerance, it is somewhat overwhelming."

"Well, Grey Wardens don't get drunk, so take that." She smacked her hand on the chair arm, missing slightly. She scowled. "Why not just ask Morrigan? Or hell, ask Alistair. Maker knows he's a horrible liar."

"Morrigan would never tell me anything, especially about her child. And as for Alistair, he would be my next choice. But like I said, I wished to meet you." He shrugged. "A spirit of wisdom, a friend before she died, was following your path through Thedas. She desired to understand your decisions, to find the wisdom they held. I would not leave her work undone."

"I'm sorry about your friend."

"Thank you."

She wanted to tell him, then, because of that simple thank you. Something about it spoke to the part of her that held things that no one could ever know. The elf in front of her seemed to understand the price that living a life of importance demanded, though she couldn't guess why.

He raised his eyebrows when she held her cup out for a refill. "Are you certain?"

"Cowards get drunk. I'm a coward. There's no wisdom in me. Your friend was wrong."

"I don't believe that is true." Nevertheless, he acceded to her silent demand. A smart choice. If he hadn't, she was just going to take it from him by force, mage or no.

She sat back and drank deeply, feeling its softness fill her. Solas wisely said nothing, only watched. He knew he'd won. She needed to talk to someone who she didn't love, but who would understand. This was the best chance she would get. The drink was just an excuse.

"Morrigan and Alistair created a child. But he's not just a child, he's a vessel. A vessel that holds someone else important."

Solas raised an eyebrow, but let her continue.

"When arch-demons die, a Grey Warden is supposed to die. You know what an arch-demon is, I suppose? Beneath the dragon, I mean? You seem to know everything else."

"Yes, I know how they came to be," he said in a low voice, and even drunk she couldn't miss the anger in his voice. He shook his head. "The Old Gods are legend. Why does that matter?"

"Well, you can't really kill one, hm? It's a sort of god thing. They just keep passing around, like a disease. A Warden can take the sickness, let it die inside of him instead of continuing to spread."

"I see," said Solas. The anger in his voice deepened, but his face was impassive. "But both you and Alistair survived Denerim. And there were no other Wardens, from what I could see."

"Exactly. But sometimes the vessel takes a new shape." She stared at him until his eyes widened. She drained her drink. "Exactly."

"That's impossible. I would have -" He broke off. "That's impossible."

"Impossible or no, those are the facts. My husband has a god baby with an imperious apostate, and I am going to go see them right now."

Her body stood up with little conscious thought. She stared down at herself, bemused, then nodded slowly. The room spun a little around her. "Yes. That's a good idea. Wisdom. I've got it."

Solas jumped up as well and put a hand on her arm. "Perhaps this isn't the best time."

She snarled. With a quick movement of her hand, she grabbed his wrist and wrenched it behind his back. He tried to struggle, but he had no chance. Even drunk she knew she was the best fighter in Thedas. The Fade whispered around them as he called up magic in response to her attack, but she pressed her free hand to his throat. Lightning arced between them, but she ground her teeth and rode through it. The battle of wills was short but fierce, but eventually he passed out in her arms from the pressure point she'd located. She checked his pulse, to make sure he was alive, and it was strong under her fingers.

"Teach you to get a Queen drunk. Enjoy your Fade walk."

Elissa headed down the hallway on unsteady legs, a new mission burning bright in her mind. When she reached the garden, the light streaming into it made her eyes water. She wiped at them with her sleeve, then scanned the courtyard closely. Revered mothers, harried gardeners, wandering messengers. No scantily clad mages. No little boys.

Movement in the corner of her eyes made her spin, and she immediately regretted it. She held on to the wall next to her and tried to still her rebellious stomach.

A voice rose from below her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just a little indisposed."

She cracked an eye open and looked down to see a dark-haired boy standing next to her. Morrigan's coloring. And he was the right age. She forgot her dizziness and stepped towards him. He caught her arm to stop her from falling on her face.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Kieran," he said uncertainly. "You're the Queen."

"How do you know that?"

"My mother showed you to me when you got here. She said I wasn't supposed to talk to you. But she didn't say what to do if you're sick. I think that should be an exception."

He led her to a nearby bench, and they sat gingerly. Well, she did. He plopped down and stared at her with his dark eyes.

She studied him in return. He was so serious. There was no laughter on his face, no teasing in his expression. Almost too solemn, really. Surely he couldn't be Alistair's. "Is your mother Morrigan?"

He nodded swiftly, without any hesitation, and then her heart broke in her chest. That was where her husband lived, in the easy trust of this child. Morrigan had been hard, suspicious, and surely would be no less so now with a child to protect. Of course she wasn't. She'd told Kieran to not even speak to her. Yet here he was, not only talking to her, but helping her, answering her questions. He was so young. Vulnerable.

It shamed her, now, that Morrigan might have been right to warn Kieran away from her temper. She could already feel it curling around her hands, wanting to make a new reality. One where Morrigan was a distant memory, and this boy no longer existed.

"A boy should always listen to his mother," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "I appreciate the help, but I don't want you to get into trouble." _I don't want to hurt you._

So swiftly it might have been a trick of magic, the eyes watching her turned ancient. The vulnerable, open look on his face was replaced with something amused and dry. "Elissa Cousland doesn't hurt innocents. She steps through the world on heavy feet, but only the guilty need fear her tread. Her blade cannot touch me, no matter how she itches to hold it."

The face changed back to a bright, but not wise, boy's, and she shivered. That answered the question she hadn't asked about what else might live inside his form, at least.

Before she could even try to reply, a voice called sharply across the courtyard. "Kieran. What are you doing?" Then the voice got closer, and it rose into slight panic. "Get away from her this instant."

The boy bounced up. "She was sick! And it's okay, she's nice. She's not scary at all, really."

Elissa met Morrigan's eyes as the woman strode over and grabbed her son by the shoulders. The witch spoke quietly. "At times the things which we need fear most are the things that look the sweetest."

Elissa looked away.

"Go see Mother Giselle, Kieran. Try not to argue with her about the Maker."

"But the things she says make no sense! It's not right to let people say things that are silly," said Kieran, and Elissa snorted a laugh. He grinned at her.

"Regardless, one does not walk into a place as a guest and criticize one's hosts," said Morrigan, in a tone that was so mother-like that Elissa nearly snorted again. "In the world, rude fools are plentiful. My son will not be one of them."

"Yes, Mother."

He started to walk away, then ran back before the witch could react. He threw his arms around Elissa, and she responded without thinking. Morrigan gave a choked cry but didn't move, probably afraid if she did the Queen's temper would snap the leash. If only she knew. Kieran held a part of Alistair, and Alistair was her life.

She closed her eyes and squeezed him gently, as she held her own children.

"I'm glad I met you," he whispered fiercely. "My mom needs her friends."

Kieran released her and ran off. She looked after him, completely bewildered. Morrigan had certainly never been her friend.

"Does he always believe the best of people?" she asked.

Morrigan chuckled. "Yes, I'm afraid so. I would have perhaps chosen his father differently had I known what traits of mine would be overwritten in my son."

Ah, so it was going to be directness. Good. Elissa didn't want to dance around euphemisms, especially in her current state. She gestured to the empty seat next to her, and Morrigan took it warily. "At the time I did suggest Roirdan, if you recall."

"It may not have worked. Alistair was young and eager," said Morrigan.

Elissa hissed, and the witch smiled archly. "Eager to save your life. I believe when it came to the act he was more eager to leave my bed than enter it. I certainly hope he's improved in technique, or your marriage must be frustrating indeed. Tell me, are you not happy to have survived?"

"I wasn't, for a long time," said Elissa. She shrugged. "I changed my mind."

"Or had it changed for you," said Morrigan with a laugh. "His inability to cease speaking must have been of use. I do hope it means you've stopped arguing. One thing I emphatically do not miss about those times is the two of you sniping across the fire at each other about every decision."

"Does that mean there are things you do miss? Like what, the constant battles? Oghren's distillery smell? Zevran's flirting?"

Morrigan wrinkled her nose, and Elissa laughed, but she saw sadness on the witch's face. She shifted uncomfortably. "Why does Kieran think that we're friends? You never liked any of us."

Then it was Morrigan's turn to look uncomfortable. "I grew up in the woods with only a mother who was cultivating my body for her possession for company. I was an apostate and Chasind, an object of fear or desire to any humans I did meet. In Orlais, this was much the same. I do not believe I've ever had friends. But a group of companions who neither ran nor tried to share my bed, Zevran aside, is likely as close as I will ever come to the experience. And they are the few clean memories I have to share with a curious child."

Elissa had no idea how to respond, but that was okay, because the door behind Morrigan suddenly blew open with rattling force, and Alistair and Leliana raced through it. They stopped short when they saw the two women on the bench, and Solas nearly ran over them. He had an ugly bruise on his neck, and she winced. Ah. Yes, that had happened.

Alistair walked over to her. "Solas said you attacked him, then came here." He knelt and took her hands. "Are you well?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't attack him. He was trying to stop me from coming, so I stopped him."

Alistair groaned lightly, and she punched him on the shoulder. "I wanted to see. You're the one who told me to come out here in the first place, you know."

He rubbed his arm. "Well, yes, but I didn't mean quite like… hang on. Are you drunk?"

"No! I feel fine."

She bounded up to prove it and ended up catching her balance on the wall behind her. Alistair stood up just as quickly but wisely didn't touch her. She glared at the rest of them, daring them to disagree. None of them did, though Solas's smile was not quite nice.

"Morrigan and I are just talking," she added.

"I see," said Leliana. "In that case, why don't we all talk? Somewhere a little more private, maybe. It will be like old times around the campfire."

"Who are we going to get to dress up as Sten and Oghren?" asked Alistair. "Not to mention all of the darkspawn we'll need to really recapture those glory days."

The bard didn't acknowledge him. "Josephine's office will be available. I'll go get Zevran and some refreshments. Meet me there." She swept out, not waiting for a response.

Morrigan rose from her seat. "But Kieran -"

"I will watch the boy," said Solas. Morrigan looked uncertain. "He'll be quite safe with me. And I will not fill his head with any Chantry nonsense."

Alistair laughed. "You're lucky Leliana already left."

"I would not have said it otherwise."

Morrigan nodded her assent and left the courtyard. Alistair gestured for Elissa to follow, and she waved him forward. "I need to apologize to Solas first."

He looked at her curiously but didn't argue as he left.

Solas folded his arms and looked at her. "An apology does not seem to be in your nature, Hero."

"It's not. Especially when I'm not sorry. What is in my nature is to say that if you hurt Kieran because of what I told you, the Fade will not be big enough to hide you from what I'll do."

"That I believe. But you needn't worry. If what you say is true, what he carries makes him more precious than anyone in Thedas, save the Inquisitor. He cannot be harmed." His eyes were serious and unreadable. "Go and enjoy your old times. The remainder of the tea is in my study, if you'd care to take it with you. Sometimes old times have no other cure."

* * *

The first minutes were awkward beyond belief. Even Morrigan drank her wine with a nervous hand, and Elissa was heartily grateful for her herbal tea with extra herbs. Talk came stilted and formal and danced around far too many topics for comfort. But slowly they relaxed, inch by inch, and soon the stiffness went out of their postures. The warmth of the fire brought back some of the old camaraderie and a lot of the jokes. Elissa shared a couch with Alistair, Morrigan had taken a chair across from them, and Zevran and Leliana both sprawled across the floor like kids.

"So Zevran," said Elissa, "you seem in very good spirits this afternoon."

"Yes! I am quite happy, my friend. I have, at long last, had a bath worthy of the name here on the edge of your smelly country."

Alistair made a noise of protest, and Zevran waved his hand in apology. "Our smelly country, forgive me. But it is quite breathtaking to be clean once more. Tevinter hospitality almost rivals Antivan for comfort."

"And the baths aren't bad either," giggled Leliana.

Zevran grinned.

"Oh really, must the innuendos continue after so long a time? Have we not matured in the least in ten years?" said Morrigan. The rest of the group looked down at themselves, then shook their heads.

"If anything, I've improved my immaturity," said Alistair. "I've honed it to the sharpest edge it can hold and now wield it as I might a very silly blade, holding off all the diplomats of Thedas with its power."

Morrigan sighed. "But you're one of the most powerful people in the world. Can you not take even that seriously?"

"That's what my wife is for. She keeps me old."

Elissa shoved him, and he kissed her.

"None of that. No canoodling. Unless, of course, I may join you," said Zevran. He looked around. "Or these ladies will consent to join me. Morrigan, may I say how pleased I am that you have retained your old style of dress. So dangerous and alluring. It tempts a man and warns him away, all in one strip of fabric. I have never met your equal."

"I have no desire to tempt anyone, elf, least of all you."

"I think what she's trying to say is that my prowess has ruined her for all future men," said Alistair, and Leliana snorted into her wine glass. "Once you've had the best, there's no going back I'm afraid."

Morrigan's eyes sought Elissa's, questioning, and she smiled at her encouragingly. Whether it was the fact that she now knew the limits of herself, that Kieran trusted her to be a friend to his mother, as his father had, or the drink in her hand, she had no desire to be difficult about the past. Morrigan needed this, he'd said. She should have it.

The witch cleared her throat. "I'm not sure one can ascribe the word prowess to an experience that lasts less than a quarter hour," she said.

Alistair coughed and blushed to the very roots of his hair. Elissa's mouth dropped open, and Zevran and Leliana both rolled onto their backs, not even trying to hide their laughter. Morrigan lips held the slightest smile, and even that was enough to take some of the age out of her eyes.

Alistair turned to her. "Are you going to let her speak about your husband that way?"

She shrugged. "You brought it up."

He tried to cross his arms before realizing his glass was in the way. He glared at it. "Fine. See if I'm awake tonight when you come to bed."

Leliana sat up. "Oh Your Highness, never make a threat you cannot follow through on. Basic tactics."

"We'll just see about that. I have reserves of will that I haven't even begun to tap," he said. "What about you, little sister? We hear little of your Inquisitorial exploits. Surely there are some strapping young soldiers around tempting your eye?"

She only smiled, but Zevran shifted up on his elbow. "Common soldiers would never tempt our naughty lay sister, Alistair. However, a delicious Antivan is always enticing enough for any woman." His voice lowered suggestively, and Elissa tried to kick him. "Tell us about dear Josephine, my friend."

Elissa was shocked when Leliana actually blushed. "No! Really? I never would have known from the way you two act."

"One is a bard, the other a diplomat. Skill in lying can obscure love as well as well as politics," said Morrigan thoughtfully. "Still, I too did not suspect. Quite clever of you."

Leliana drained her glass. "I should have known you would figure it out," she muttered at Zevran. "You really do always know."

The elf looked amused, but not apologetic.

Alistair's voice came as if from a long way away. "Does that mean that this couch…?" When they turned to him, he was looking at it with a very red face. When Leliana nodded sharply, he put a hand over his mouth. "Well," he said in muffled tones. "That changes the tone of this entire reunion."

"I don't see how," said Elissa. "We've all been acting like children in the back of the Chantry since the moment we sat down. Tipsy children, but children nonetheless." She leaned back against the softness of the cushions. "Wake me up when we find our dignity."

Morrigan's voice pulled her eyes open again. "Before you sleep, please allow me to say this. 'Tis not always easy to see things from your past you thought best forgot. I fear this will not be the last hard thing any of us face from our histories. But it is comforting that it was not so hard as it could have been. As it was in my imagination. It speaks well of your capacity for goodness."

Leliana looked amused. "Are you trying to thank us?"

"Yes. Did I not say so?" Alistair shook his head with a smile, and Morrigan colored. "Ah. Well then, thank you. Thank all of you, for this kindness. It would have been easy to withhold."

"It wouldn't have," said Elissa. She looked at the mage. "Friends don't withhold kindnesses from each other. At least not for long."

The rest of the group nodded, for once all serious.

Morrigan stood. "Well, yes. It is good to have… friends." She looked a little uncertain. "I need to go check on Kieran. Perhaps I will see you all at dinner?"

"Only if you don't mind eating with two of the most devastatingly handsome men in the hold," said Zevran. Alistair looked at him with a surprised smile, and the elf clarified, "Dorian and myself, of course."

"Ah. Of course."

The mage shook her head. "It will be fine. My son has been dying to ask questions of Uncle Zevran."

Zevran's eyes widened in horror, and Morrigan smiled as she left.

"Uncle Zevran? Andraste, no, this will not do. I am not fit to uncle her child. I am barely fit to friend his mother."

Leliana laughed and pulled him to his feet. "You'd better learn. Sounds like you don't have a choice. I think you will make a truly darling uncle. How many can claim a former Crow?" They walked out, arguing with each other.

Elissa's eyes closed again, and she was drifting off when she felt a light nibble on her ear. She smiled. "What happened to your reserves of will?"

Alistair's voice rumbled against her skin. "That's for later tonight. For right now, you are delicious, and we are on a couch that was designed for the purpose."

She rolled herself to the side, her eyes still closed, and he kissed her lids before finding her mouth. She wrapped her hand around his head and pulled him against her. When they broke for air, she finally opened her eyes to see him smiling at her softly.

"What?"

"I'm proud of you, Lady. You did a brave thing. Do you feel better now?" She nodded, and he tucked her hair behind her ear. "They call you Hero for all the wrong reasons, you know. The big, obvious terrors are easy for you. It's in the small moments where you're truly brave. I love that about you."

"Even if it takes me a few stiff drinks to find it?"

"Especially because of that. Remind me to get this tea recipe from Solas. It could be very useful when I want to get my way."

She laughed and pushed herself onto his lap. "You have a much more potent weapon than tea to control me, my dear."


	4. Leliana

Leliana wrote at her desk late into the night. She pushed her hair back from her face and sighed as the ravens settled around her. _If people only realized how much paperwork there was in the life of a spy, they'd soon stop writing cheap thrillers about it._

Of course, Varric had decided to enter the genre now that he'd given up the life of a spy network chief. He claimed he wouldn't give away any trade secrets, but she wasn't worried. He barely knew half of what he thought he did about the craft. She meant to keep it that way.

She dipped her quill into the ink again, scratching the codes that were second nature to her. One code for truth. Another code for the lies that she only wanted Tevinter to read. Another for everyone's consumption, everyone with a half-decent spy network anyway, with a second code inside of it for only her own people. She held a hundred languages inside of her head, even more than people suspected, and they were all deadly. This note for ruin. This note for discovery. This note for revenge. This note for death.

The Inquisitor had asked her to kill again, as she did more and more often as the enemies piled up too fast to reason with. Josie, soft and gentle, always wanted to take the slow path. Leliana was the only one who'd noticed that the ambassador's actions were being restricted more and more to Val Royeaux. The Game was understood there. Time could be taken.

There was no time to be had in the Imperium.

Finally she reached the last stack of papers. She always saved this to the end, when her energy would be the lowest. This was the pile that would tell her the secrets of the inner circle of the Inquisition, delicious and savory, and the last one she read was always her own. It was always good to know what your spies did and didn't know. Or, more likely, what they chose to reveal and hide. Everything was a test.

She started in with gusto. Cullen was still struggling with lyrium, no surprise, but he'd taken to praying half the night which wouldn't be good for his focus _. More coffee at the War Table._ Varric's Bianca had been seen in Ferelden, buying a large quantity of silver. Varric's business partners in the Free Marches just happened to need that exact quantity, but without the fuss of an import tax. _Possible leverage._ Dorian had received a package from Tevinter he hadn't wanted anyone to see. Further examination when he'd been out of his room revealed it was a special oil meant for mustache rejuvenation. _Make fun of the limpness of his facial hair._

At a footfall on the stair behind her, she shuffled the papers away with gentle movements. "It's quite late for you to be unaccompanied, isn't it Bull?" she asked without turning around.

"Hey, Red," he said. "Nice eyes you've got in the back of your head."

She shrugged and turned towards him. "A lucky guess."

"Nah. You heard my horns scrape the stone on top of the door when I came up. Plus your birds never rustle when I walk in. Too afraid to move."

"With those skills, you'd almost make a decent spy. A pity you cannot resist telling everyone that you are one. Rather ruins the mystique."

The Quanari walked around the desk and settled into the chair across from her. She winced as it groaned under his weight, and he grinned. "Don't worry, it'll hold. As for my occupational choices, they work for me. And they work for my bosses. You don't have to be subtle if you're good."

He set a bottle and two glasses on the table. She raised her eyebrows.

"Are you saying I'm not good?"

"You're better than good, and you know it. If we'd had you back in Kirkwall that situation wouldn't have gone all to shit like it did. Though even the dwarf could have managed the situation better than our guy. That idiot Arishok couldn't find one lousy Rivaini in all those years, even when she'd slept with half the city and made eyes at the other half. Plus she ran around with Hawke. The person the Arishok talked to more than anyone but the Viscount's kid." Iron Bull set his voice up a couple of octaves. "'But she never came inside our camp itself!' Idiots."

She laughed and reached for a glass. He poured her a drink and then himself. When he raised her glass, she tapped it lightly with her own, then drank. "What do you want, Bull?"

"Direct, huh? I like that. Of course, with you I know if you're coming at me from the front where I should really be looking is behind me."

She didn't answer, but unlike most of the people she talked to, he didn't seem to care. They drank in silence for a time, waiting to see who would break. She was irritated when it turned out to be her. "You didn't answer me."

He smiled. "Right. Knew I'd forgotten something. So, I was talking to that sexy Ferelden Warden about you."

"Which one?" she asked, smirking.

"Red. Come on. They're both fine, but there's only one who sliced the head off of a dragon." He licked his lips. "She reminds me of the Seeker after a fight. Blood lust pumping and eyes full of battle. The Hero doesn't need to spill blood to get that way, though. Very alluring."

"You realize she's married. To a King."

"Everyone has their flaws. I'm happy to work past it." Ale sloshed over his hand as he made a graphic gesture. Leliana rolled her eyes. "Anyway, she was telling me a story about you. About your former mentor, too. She sort of told me without telling me that it was ten years ago today that you killed her."

Leliana didn't react, and he nodded. "Yeah, I thought you'd already know. She must have, too. Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"That's fine, too." He poured another round.

Leliana went back to reading the reports in front of her, no longer caring if he saw. Evelyn had stopped striking with her left dagger in the yard. _Possible injury._ Blackwall's latest, pointy carving had been stolen and put on the throne right before the Inquisitor sat down. _Reprimand_ _Sera_. Josephine's latest trip to Val Royeaux had included a stop in a shoe store, through the back entrance when she thought no one could see. _Remember to act surprised at the gift._

"What do they say about me?" Bull asked casually.

"Once I told them to stop chronicling every sexual partner you had, the reports got much shorter." She leaned back as he laughed. "They're more about the Chargers than you, these days."

He stopped laughing with frightening speed. "Leave my squad alone, Red."

"I'm not going to hurt them."

"They're mine."

"They're mine. You all are. We pay you well to be so."

He slapped the table in disgust. "You think we're still here for the pay?"

"No. But you take it," she said.

"Yeah." He took a pull off of his ale and sighed. "Did I ever tell you why I went to the re-educators? I know you won't find it on those little pieces of paper you push around. I have a different story I usually tell about the experience."

She shook her head. He leaned forward. "I killed my commander. Well, he wasn't really a commander, but you wouldn't understand the Qunari word for it. He had authority over me, we'll say that. He started losing it, I mean really losing it. But he stayed inside the Qun, just so, really smart-like. There was never anything I could report back, even though I knew he was a step away from taking us all Tal-Vashoth whether we wanted it or not."

Arrows whispered and Marjolaine fell to the ground.

He watched her face. "Yeah. Sometimes it's that fast. I killed him on patrol, blamed it on the Fog Warriors. No one blinked. And I realized how easy it was to do what I decided rather than what the Qun said. I realized I was half-losing it myself. I turned myself in, did the right thing. But it was close."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've never done anything worse. I've killed a lot of people in a lot of ways, and not all of those deaths were exactly quick and easy. Some lasted a long time, and the guys were screaming before it was over. This was worse. Not because it was harder, but because it was easier. And even as I was doing it I knew I shouldn't have to, that I was making a choice before I'd reached the last option." He paused. "And the hell of it is, I'm still proud of it."

The chair scraped against the floor as he stood. "Wouldn't think we'd be so proud of the worst parts of ourselves, would you?"

Her face gave nothing away. She knew it. Bull didn't need it to.

"Josephine's back," he said. "Hit her room about an hour ago."

"Thank you."

"No problem. By the way, let me know when you're going to make fun of the Vint's mustache cream. I've been thinking of some good lines. We could tag team."

"It's this uncivilized cold air," she said in a reasonable approximation of Dorian's cultured tones. Bull grinned. "If only the ancient elves had built their hidden stronghold somewhere a little less barbaric."

"Who knew a Vint's lip hair would shrivel up before his balls?" He headed to the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, "Keep the bottle, Red. It's not the best stuff, but it's what there is. No sense regretting what it isn't."

* * *

Leliana took it with her when she slipped into Josie's rooms a few minutes later. The ambassador whirled around, settling back into a truly deplorable fighting stance, and the bard couldn't stop a laugh. "Maker, Josie, no one would ever believe you'd trained in Orlais."

"I had more important things to interest me than grappling about. Words make the best weapons." Josephine smoothed down her traveling clothes with a dignified hand.

"You'll get no argument from me."

"A welcome change." She disappeared behind the changing divide carrying an armload of clothing. "You're here late. I thought you'd be sleeping."

"There were several reports to go through." _And I didn't want to sleep without you_. "Nothing critical, but better to go through it when I have no distractions."

She smiled devilishly when a dark head peeked back around the wooden stand. "Give me a few more minutes to unpack, and we'll see how much of a distraction I can become," said Josephine.

Leliana crossed to the bed and lay back. The stone ceiling above her was only marginally more interesting than the paperwork she'd slogged through that day. "I missed you," she called out.

"Patience!"

She propped up on her elbows and took a drink from the bottle. "No one has ever been more patient than I was today. Unpack later."

"I must hang up these last few things. They will wrinkle horribly if I don't."

The bard flopped back again, scowling. When Josie came back, her face filled with concern as it hovered over Leliana's. "What troubles you?"

"Nothing, now." She pulled the Antivan down to her and captured her mouth. Josie braced herself against the bed and returned it, but with a hesitation that had Leliana growling.

"Have you been drinking? While you were working?" Josie sounded incredulous. "Something must be wrong. Tell me."

Leliana rolled away from her and tried to sit up. The ambassador restrained her with a surprisingly strong grip, and she struggled ineffectually against it. "This was a mistake. I can see you tomorrow, Josie."

"You can, and you will, but you will also see me now," said Josephine in unyielding tones. A smile tugged at her lips. "There will be no negotiating this decision."

"And I have no leverage, clearly."

"None at all."

Josie coaxed her backwards on the bed and stretched out next to her. She ran her fingers through the bard's hair, and Leliana relaxed under her touch. "Tell me."

She thought back to Bull's story. "Ten years ago I did a terrible thing, and I'm still proud I did it."

"I see. This was during the Blight, yes?" Leliana nodded, and Josephine continued. "Did it save your life?"

She thought. "I suppose it did. Not at the time, but later certainly."

"Then I'm also proud you did it."

Leliana turned her head to look at her face. It was serene and accepting. "You don't even know what it was."

"I don't have to. Not if it meants you're here, now."

Josephine kissed her with gentle pressure. Leliana responded, and the next few minutes were lost in the warmth of a much-needed embrace. When they broke apart, Leliana's smile was genuine though tears graced her eyes.

Josephine smoothed her thumb across Leliana's cheek. "You are extraordinary, my love. Anything you undertook to accomplish could not be wrong."

She thought again of Marjoliane, a woman who'd also thought her extraordinary, but not for love. How many nights had they spent in beds like this, talking about her future and what a fine bard Leliana would be? Always later, though, as soon as she'd performed one more small service. After she'd stolen one more secret, seduced one more diplomat, killed one more guard. She would be great, Marjolaine had promised. She'd cared for people only for what they could give her. "That can't possibly be true about anyone, Josie."

"Nevertheless," she said. "Diplomacy may lack the bloodshed of other roads, but it's no less hurtful for that. None of us have the luxury of simple lives. Which secret to tell, which heart to stab, which person to destroy with a word. I don't deny you may have done things another person would condemn. But that other person lacks the knowledge I have. I know your heart."

"You should. It is yours, after all."

"Exactly. So keep the secrets you need. Remember the past if you must. But don't regret it. I will not allow you to doubt yourself."

Josie rolled off the bed. Leliana made a noise of protest and was promptly shushed. "I was going to give you this tomorrow night, after dinner with the Duke, but I think now would be more appropriate."

The Antivan came back holding a box, of roughly shoe size, and Leliana sat up eagerly. Even though the gift itself wasn't a surprise, what the shoe looked like always was. She opened the box slowly, wanting to savor the reveal, but frowned when she saw only a smaller box inside. "Josie, what is this?"

"Keep going," she answered with exasperation.

Another box, and another box, each smaller and smaller. _The shoes are only going to fit the feet of a nug by the time I get to the end of this,_ she thought wryly. Finally the last box, the smallest of all, held a delicate silver chain. She pulled it out and held it in front of her. The symbol of the Maker swung there, intricately carved into a square of pure silver.

Leliana bit her lip and looked at the diplomat who wore a self-satisfied smirk. "This was supposed to be shoes."

Josie laughed. "So I finally fooled your crafty spies, then?"

"Completely. It's beautiful. Thank you." She turned around to let Josephine clasp it around her neck.

Before she did, she wrapped her arms around Leliana and held the symbol in front of her. "This way you will always hold the two dearest things in the world next to your heart. The Maker, and me." She flipped the square over to show her name carved with the touch of a ghost into the back of the pendant.

Leliana felt tears again, but her voice was only amused. "Did you carve your name on the Maker's ass?"

"No! Of course not! That is simply… no!"

She twisted around to kiss the other woman again. "I think you did. I love it even more, now. Very wicked of you."

The Antivan grumbled and turned her around again, fastening the necklace with a final grunt. Leliana reached down to settle it under her shirt, where it fit softly against her chest. "It's a shame it's not the only thing I'm wearing."

"I agree completely. So what shall we do now, Nightingale?"

Josie's tone was husky as she pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. Leliana shivered as tanned hands reached under her tunic and began to tug it gently upward. Her lover's hands pushed away the bad memories and left only goodness in their wake. Goodness and desire.

"Make me sing, Josie."


	5. Sera

"That's the pot for me. Eat it!"

Sera scooped the coins out of the center of the table with a cackle while the better-dressed players made noises of disgust. As was only right. Even though they'd wised up and stopped playing with her friends, none of these fancy nobles dreamed that the entire tavern staff was feeding her everything they could. Combined with her iron stomach and skill at the game, they didn't stand a chance.

She grinned up at them when they stood to leave. "What, giving up? Shame, I thought you were all going to turn it around. Nice playing with you, yeah?" she called after them as they filed out.

The elf handed around some of the winnings to the people who'd helped and gave the rest to one of the serving girls who'd been getting a little sick in the mornings lately. For herself she kept just enough coin to buy a drink and settled down at the bar to go at it alone.

She kicked her feet against the stool and hummed a little off-key, frowning when she realized she was humming "Sera Never Was". That damn minstrel woman was a right pain in the ass. She didn't need some singer making sheep's eyeballs at her and making up songs that were stupid. She changed the words to be about a bard who met a horrible death and went back to waiting for the next thing to happen.

She didn't have to wait long. The tavern door slammed open in a decidedly aggressive way, and half the patrons had their hands at their sword belts before they saw it was Josephine. The chuckles spread slowly and quietly, but they were all centered on Sera's barstool. Krem in particular was enjoying himself, standing on his chair so as not to miss anything. She tipped him a wink as the ambassador advanced on her.

"Sera! You have been told repeatedly not to… hustle the nobility who travel to the hold. We cannot afford to cultivate a reputation as an institution which invites the wealthy here to rob them." The Antivan stopped only an arm's length away and placed her hands on her hips.

"They wanted to play, didn't they? No one got their arm twisted. Just their wallets."

"Perhaps they wished to play in a friendly, fair game of chance. I do not believe any of them were interested in what you provided."

Sera grinned widely. "Are you saying I cheated?"

"I am saying it. Yes! You cheated. We've received numerous complaints."

"Losers are sore, especially when they're tits. Tell them to go cry in their silk handkerchiefs and leave the rest of us to our honest, law-abiding peace."

Josephine's eyes flashed fire. "The Inquisitor will hear about this, Sera."

The elf only laughed as the ambassador spun on her heel and left. Krem and Varric both wandered over to her as soon as the diplomat cleared the door. Varric shook his head, and Krem wore an expression of mock sternness as he waggled his finger at her.

"You really do have a way with people," said Varric. She blew a raspberry. "No, I mean it. I'm considering hiring you to be my face with the merchant's guild."

"That face would certainly speak volumes," said Krem. "I'm just glad she gets the ambassador all hot and bothered and in the bar. Always a sight for sore eyes in this place."

"You trying to horn in on Blackwall's territory?" asked Sera curiously.

Varric laughed. "I think he's sailing into much more dangerous waters than a burly Grey Warden's if he's got his eye on the lovely Josephine. She's a force of nature."

"Hate to break it to you, but my interests steer in an entirely different direction. But you can't blame a man for looking, can you? Besides, she strikes me as a woman who isn't the territory of anyone," said Krem.

"Yeah, well, whatever right?" said Sera, drumming her fingers on the bar. "She's protecting a bunch of assholes. I was even nice to them. One of them tried to touch me, a lot. I let him keep his fingers, took his coin instead. She should be happy!"

Before the men could respond, the door banged open again. No one bothered reaching for weapons this time. Evelyn's angry arrivals were always obvious from the green glow that preceded her. She looked around distractedly, then zeroed in on them.

Varric tried a smile. "Your Worship! I was just thinking it's been far too long since I bought you a drink."

"Not now, Varric," she said.

He rocked back on his heels, a little surprised, and Krem took the opportunity to steal his drink. Evelyn crossed her arms and looked at the winsome elf in front of her. "Sera, Josephine says you robbed a bunch of nobles."

"What? That's just - I did not!"

"Well…" said Krem under his breath, and she kicked him.

"Look, I don't have time for this today. Whatever happened, just stop it. They're screaming bloody murder in the Hall, and now we're negotiating reparations. We're not made of money. Or time," she added to herself.

"Repara-whats? Wait, you're giving them their money back?" Sera stood up quickly, clenching her fists. "That's disgusting! You can't do that."

"Their money plus some, according to Josephine. And she didn't give me much of a choice. Apparently one of them is very critical to something. Or maybe his cousin is. Or his dog. Someone is critical. So cut it out, okay?"

Sera paced the length of the bar. "If I'm such a bother maybe I shouldn't even be here, yeah? Your noble Inquistorialness?"

"Don't be silly. Of course you should be here, Sera. You're valuable to us." Evelyn looked behind her. "I have to go. Varric, if Josephine asks, tell her I talked to Sera, okay? She didn't seem like she believed me when I said I would."

"No problem. So hey, how's Curly doing?"

Evelyn stopped mid-turn, looking hunted. "What do you mean?"

"He got back last night, didn't he? From that recruitment jaunt? Haven't seen him a few weeks, just wondered how it went."

"I haven't seen him either. Too many things to do," she said. Her face was a little wistful. "Cassandra said it went fine." Evelyn left without closing the door, as always. Krem nodded to the man sitting at the table near it, and he took care of it with a chuckle.

"Poor Inquisitor," said Krem. "It's one thing to be afraid of making a move. It's another to not have the time to do it. To be both? Brutal."

Varric chuckled. "I'll keep working at it."

"Who cares about some stupid lovey dovey crap? She as good as told me I'm not as important as those tosspots from the land of sticks up their asses. 'You're valuable to us.' Like I'm a sword or something. Pah! Once a noble always a noble," said Sera. She pushed away from the bar and headed for the stairs.

Krem grabbed her arm. "Give her a break. She's trying to keep a lot of people happy."

"Yeah, yeah, she's big and important and going to save the world. Too big for us to topple. We're all just her tools." She glared at him and wrenched her arm away. "Some of us more than others."

* * *

Sera spent the next few days trying to come up with the right revenge. In spite of her words she didn't really want to destroy the Inquisitor. Just sort of remind her who mattered.

In the meantime she pulled some small tricks with the help of friends. Switched out Evelyn's formal shirt with one of Dorian's, kept her distracted enough that she didn't know her shoulder was showing until Leliana turned her around and marched her out of the Hall. Stole all of her writing supplies. Swapped out the pegs on the War Table for dead bugs. But none of them were big enough for a lesson, just enough to keep her irritated.

Of course, it wasn't only about the Inquisitor. Krem's supply of socks was mysteriously replaced by much, much smaller items, and Josephine barely made it through a day without getting water splashed on her from some source or other. The servants of the fortress were especially angry with the diplomat who'd sided against them.

Which was why Sera snuck into Josephine's office in the middle of the night. She searched her desk, looking for the cryptic scheduling notes that would tell them where to set up their cleaning crews the next day. Her friends had volunteered to do the search for her, but rifling through the Antivan's papers was pretty big stuff. Nothing she wanted to fall on their heads.

Sera made quiet notes to herself as she carefully picked up and replaced everything, until a buried note caught her eye. She read it with growing glee. A Free Marchers noble bigshot, coming for a visit. Old friend of Evelyn's. Perfect.

* * *

The next morning she bounded into the Commander's office, then frowned when it was empty. Wasn't he supposed to be the diligent one? She amused herself while she waited by rearranging exactly one-third of his books into a new configuration. After a few minutes, she stepped back with a pleased grin. If you squinted, their heights now shaped out a nicely phallic shape.

Sera was giggling madly when a form swung down the ladder. Cullen stopped short. "Sera," he said warily.

"Good morning, yeah?"

"Yes. You're up… suspiciously early." He studied her. "If you're looking to recruit me into something, the answer is no. Whatever feud you have with the Inquisitor is your business."

"Oh Culley-Wulley, I would never do that. You're too important for me to be bothering with! I actually brought you some food."

She gestured to the low table behind her, ignoring his wince at the nickname.

"Is it poisoned?"

"No! The Inquisitor's been saying how she's worried about you, didn't think you were getting your breakfast with the reports you do. I volunteered to bring it up. Kind of a peace offering."

"That's very big of you, Sera. Thank you."

His eyes had softened at the mention of Evelyn's concern. Cullen was so easy. He walked to the chair and sat, eating the food entirely unsuspiciously. Good for him she hadn't actually done anything to it.

She sat next to him and kicked up her feet. "So, busy day we're going to have, innit?"

His mouth was full, but he pantomimed to the effect that every day was busy.

"But it's not every day we get to meet Evelyn's future husband," she added, deliberately casual.

He choked. "I'm sorry?"

"You hadn't heard? It's all anyone's talking about out there." She waved towards the courtyard. That at least wasn't a lie. Her friends had made sure of it, and there was nothing the fortress liked to talk about more than sex. "I guess it was some secret. Some noble thing. She wasn't important enough, and they couldn't get married. But now she's the great and worshipful Herald, so it's all good, yeah?"

Cullen pushed his plate away. "They'd mentioned that Bann Alverson was coming, but I had no idea…" He rubbed the back of his neck, and Sera felt a tiny twinge of guilt. _It's all for the greater good_ , she thought to herself. "Well, it's certainly nice when love works out, isn't it."

"Exactly," she said, then stood. "I'm probably keeping you from stuff. Sorry. But I hope you like the breakfast."

"Yes, thank you again," said Cullen. He barely looked at it.

Sera skipped out the door just in time for a couple of soldiers to pass her. They were whispering about the Bann's visit in tones that weren't quite hushed enough.

"And I heard they've been keeping up secret correspondence for years."

"Yes, me too. He threw over a duchess to ride here and demand her hand."

Sera grinned. That was a good one! She hadn't even come up with it. When she reached the stable yard, Varric was waiting for her.

"Hey short stuff," she said casually.

"Good morning. Lovely day for a rumor, wouldn't you say?"

"I've already been hearing a really good one."

"It's got a lot to recommend it. Secret and forbidden passions, a handsome noble, a scorned woman redeemed." He crossed his arms. "It was you, wasn't it?"

She looked around to see if anyone could hear them, then nodded gleefully. "Don't tell her though."

"Don't worry, I'm on your side. I added a few things, actually." Sera looked at him questioningly, and Varric cocked his head innocently. "Hey, you have your agenda, I have mine. If this doesn't get them over their shyness, nothing will."

* * *

The arrival of the Bann was everything she could have hoped for. The Hall was packed to the rafters with onlookers, even on the balcony where she sat swinging her legs. Evelyn kept looking around, clearly confused, but she was too polite to say anything. The noble himself seemed well enough, Sera supposed, though she wasn't much of a judge of these things. But from the way Dorian hummed above her, he must be attractive. Even better.

When he bowed to the Inquisitor and kissed her hand, the entire building sighed with satisfied longing.

Evelyn accepted the greeting graciously, though she looked more confused than ever. They exchanged words that Sera couldn't hear, but when two servants approached to lead them away, the Inquisitor's voice raised in a yelp. "A private meal? That's certainly not-"

They made soothing murmurs, and Varric stepped up to add his voice to the discussion. Slowly, persuasively, the Inquisitor and the Bann were led through the door to her room. As soon as it closed, the crowd exploded in speculation.

* * *

Sera made sure to be hanging around Cullen's office for the rest of the day, waiting for Evelyn to show up. He'd holed himself up in it, had barely left to use the lav, so the Inquisitor'd have to come here to see him and learn just how much her life had gotten twisted around.

She'd been waiting a lot longer than she'd expected, but two things could always be counted on with nobles. One was that they would always make the time to do whatever they wanted. Two was that they were always the last to know what people were actually saying about them. She couldn't wait.

Krem caught her pacing the battlements and tossing stones over the walls. "A bit cruel of you, this rumor business. You realize that, right?"

She waved him away. "Nah. It won't last, and then they'll be back to making smoochy faces over the War Table and making the rest of us sick. Meantime she'll learn that the little people around her have a lot more power over her life than she thinks. Maybe she won't be so quick to side with the idiots next time."

He sighed. "I realize this may be foreign to you, but some people have actual emotions. Feelings."

She stared at him blankly.

"Love isn't always just sex," Krem added. "Sometimes things get broken that don't just get fixed again by a roll in the sheets."

"But Varric said this would be good for them."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Are you saying you did it because you thought it would be?"

She scowled. "It's just a prank. Something silly, keep everyone on the same level."

" _Vishante kaffas_! You're too smart to think that," he said. He looked at her in disgust.

"Fine! Maybe I wanted her to lose a little. See what it was like when someone didn't think she was the best person in the world. It's not nice!" Sera kicked the wall with her shoe. "But I'll fix it if it breaks. I will."

"That's all I ask."

She gave him a sidelong look. "So, talking about all of this emotions and feelings shit, you know I like women right? I don't advertise but it's how it is. I mean, I know about your, like, sock situation, but you're a man."

"Don't I know it. Don't worry. Like I said, I'm usually steering into a different wind. The Bann is very attractive." Krem walked away, but called over his shoulder, "By the way, I still want my socks back."

* * *

Krem's appearance had taken away much of her pleasure, and her wait was a mix of apprehensive and impatient. When Evelyn finally came to Cullen's office just before dinner, she shimmied up the wall and listened from the loft as they talked past each other.

"The Bann will be a valuable ally," said Cullen after they got past the niceties. "It's good to secure such a strong partner for the Inquisition."

"Yes," Evelyn answered. "He's been a good friend for a long time. His father was a nasty, snobbish man who never would have accepted us. He always hated me. I hate to rejoice at anyone's death, but…"

There was a long pause. Evelyn's voice came again, more hesitantly. "I was hoping you would join us for dinner tonight. He'd like to meet you."

"Ah. I'm not sure that would be - I mean, I don't think that's possible. The new recruits will be here tomorrow, and I need to prepare for their arrival." Another pause. "Thank you for the invitation."

"Cullen." A light footstep scraped across the stone. "I missed you."

"Inquisitor," said Cullen, suddenly stiff and formal. "I know that in the past there have been some indications that I would - well, that we would - but either way I don't think they are, well, appropriate. At this time. If you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend to." His voice softened, just a little. "And I'm sure they're waiting for you."

Sera wanted to vomit, but this time it wasn't all from their ridiculous sappiness. She heard the door open and quickly clambered back up and through the hole in the ceiling, looking for Evelyn's form walking across the bridge. Nothing there.

She looked down. A blond head, half-hidden by a recess in the wall, lurked beneath her. The Inquisitor's shoulders were slumped and broken, and Sera suspected she was crying. Krem's disgusted voice scraped across her memory, and she blew her bangs up in annoyance.

Feelings were such horseshit.

After a long minute, Evelyn wiped her hands over her face and left. Sera sat perched on the roof and thought harder than she ever had.

* * *

After their boring noble dinner, Sera burst into the Inquisitor's room. Evelyn, Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, Dorian and the Bann all stared at her from their chairs, and none of the stares looked friendly.

Sera shrugged and grinned. "This is a horrible place for a reunion. You'll never have any fun on this stuffy furniture. Come to the bar!" She held out a bottle of whisky she'd appropriated. "I'll even let you have this!"

Cassandra made a noise of protest, but the Bann stood. "Maker yes. I've been dying for a bar since I got here. Please? I'm so sick of being a noble. I barely know how to do it."

Dorian laughed. "You'll pick it up. As another member of the very exclusive club of 'men disowned by their fathers', let me tell you that nobility beats dirt every time."

"Maybe. But not quite yet. What do you say, Ev?"

The Inquisitor agreed without much enthusiasm but rose when he held out his hand. They filed out, Cassandra grumbling the entire way.

Sera handed the bottle off to Dorian as he passed. "Great! I'll meet you there, yeah? Just got something to see to."

Leliana murmured on her way out, "I hope you know what you're doing."

Sera smiled uncertainly. They'd certainly find out.

* * *

She gave them ten minutes to get to the bar and get settled, then steeled herself outside. The tavern was packed, full of gawking romantics who'd seen them trailing through the courtyard, and there would be no better time.

Andraste's tits this was a horrible plan. But it was the only one she had.

Sera opened the door in front of her dramatically and winced when it caught a man across the back of the head _. Sorry, sorry. Dramatic entrances, not happening._ His friends picked him up off the ground as she swept past.

The knot of nobles sat in a table in the middle of the room. Perfect. She stomped up to them wildly and struck the Bann in the face.

Josephine goggled, and Evelyn looked horrified. She ignored them. "You tit!" she yelled, making sure her voice carried. "You said you'd always love me! And now you're what, chasing up another skirt? And all that? Well that's crap. Just 'cause I'm an elf doesn't mean you can just, you know, move on. I won't let you."

The Bann stared at her, utterly mystified as he rubbed his face. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He obviously didn't even recognize her from the Inquisitor's room. Unsurprisingly. She had a ribbon in her hair and some kind of, like, color on her face, courtesy of Vivienne's room. What the mage didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Or Sera. Though she felt like an idiot.

She tried to remember the script that Varric had given her. "Oh, do you know me? Good one. Right. Like you can forget all of our nights of… passion. And torridness. And torrid passion!"

He stared at her like she'd grown another head. Evelyn's mouth was open wider than a sloth demon's. Sera knew she was losing control of the situation, so she skipped to the end of the page and kissed the human right on the mouth. When he tried to pull back, she flung herself into his lap and gave it all she had.

_Ugh, he's all like, hard and stuff. How do women do this?_

She heard Leliana choking back dangerous amounts of laughter behind her and she hoped no one else noticed. Probably they didn't. Most of the bar was hooting and hollering, and between that and the scandalized gasps no one was noticing much of anything but her performance.

Evelyn cried "Sera!" in total confusion, and Sera knew she had to move this along. The Bann was still too shocked to do anything, but she sensed he was getting ready to dump her on the floor.

Sera moved her mouth to his ear and spoke as quickly as she could. "Look I need you to do this to help out Evelyn. She's sad. Trust me. You're in love with me."

The Bann pulled her head away from him and stared at her. She tried to look back in lovestruck anger while communicating that she wasn't a lunatic. This wasn't as easy as she'd thought given the noises coming from behind her. Some sounded like Dorian slapping Leliana on the back to get the bard to breathe, but Cassandra's sputtering and Josephine hissing like a teakettle about to boil over also weren't helping.

But whatever he saw must have convinced him. He took a deep breath and put one hand over his heart while winding his other behind her back. "Yes! Sera! I will keep my feelings chained no longer. You're the only woman for me. Please forgive me for my weak indiscretions, my love," he said. He was practically exploding with mirth, but the room around them was hanging on every word.

Maker's asshole. Now what?

The Bann smoothly went on. "Is there a place I can ravish you as you deserve, my beautiful elven goddess?"

Ah, yes. Good idea. She nodded up the stairs, and he picked her up with little apparent effort and carried her to them. At their foot, he kissed her again, grossly, and she resisted the urge to hit him. He turned back to the room and bowed, almost sending them to the ground. "My apologies to you all, but love cannot be denied."

He swung her over his shoulder, and this time she did hit him. On her way up she saw Cullen walk through the door with Varric, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Now it was up to the dwarf.

* * *

"What in the Maker's name was that about?" the Bann said from her windowsill. He was still laughing. "Not that it wasn't the most hilarious thing I've done since the time we colored naughty pictures on a Grand Cleric's robes, but I'm still not sure what I was doing."

"It's kind of a long thing, yeah?"

But he only looked at her, so she explained about the nobles and the money and the payback and the marriage rumor as best she could. He looked no less confused when she was done, which was the standard response when she tried to explain anything. "Look, all you need to know is I let people think you were going to marry Evelyn, and it messed up someone who actually liked her, and this was the only way to get the rumors sort of overwritten. None of it makes any sense, but it will be enough to get things kind of back to normal and clear the way for a new romantic story for her. Okay?"

He held up his hands. "If it helps her out, I'm fine with it. She's always been a good friend to me, even when no one else was." The man crossed his legs. "I take it this has something to do with the Cullen I've heard so much about? She never stopped talking about him all day."

She nodded and made a face. "They're disgusting."

"But you helped them anyway. Good of you. And if I'm not mistaken, you did something you consider highly unpleasant to do it."

He laughed again when she looked at him guiltily. "It's okay. My only request is that I'm allowed to be there when you explain it to Evelyn. The look on her face will be priceless. Especially when she realizes you mostly pranked yourself."

"I probably owe you more than that," she said grudgingly. "After all, you're the guy who spurned the Inquisitor twice now. And you didn't even do it once."

He shrugged. "I'll drink off of it forever. And it's not as though she'll actually treat me poorly herself. Don't worry about it."

"No," she said. "I owe you a favor. Don't forget. I can get you a lot of favors, okay? Just ask."

"Well, if you're offering, I do have one request. There was a young man down in the bar, Tevinter maybe. Shaved sides of his head. With, frankly, an obscenely attractive mouth and eyes that had my clothes off before I sat down. Could I get an introduction?"

She grinned and bounded up. "Be right back, your nobleness."

* * *

When she got back downstairs to the much emptier tavern, everyone left stared at her and whispered. She tried to ignore them. Cullen and Evelyn were huddled together on a bench holding hands, so she figured there was at least something fixed there. Josephine and Cassandra were glaring at her, so Varric must have told them enough.

Sera sighed. All in a day's work as Red Jenny.

She made her way to where Krem was sitting with the Chargers. He jumped to his feet and made a deep bow at her approach. "My elven goddess! How may I ravish you this evening?"

The mercenaries leered at her, and she crossed her arms. "I hate you."

"Yes, you have eyes for only one man I hear. Such a shame. You'll make a terrible noble."

"Stop talking, or I'll take this back. Come with me." She tugged him towards the stairs, and the Chargers hooted lasciviously after them.

Krem had grabbed his mug and it spilled across his leathers as they climbed. "Slow down! This drink cost good money you know. Sera!"

She threw open the door to her room without answering and shoved him inside. No one at the nearby tables said a word as she followed him in. The fighter caught himself on one of the many pieces of furniture in her room and glared at her. "What the hell is going on?"

The Bann laughed. "She does seem to provoke that reaction, doesn't she?" He rose gracefully. "Bann Gareth Alverson, at your service. At whatever service you desire, in fact."

Krem's eyes went wide, but he couldn't stop a smile. "Krem, my lord. Just Krem. No fancy titles for me."

"Thank the Maker. Titles are good at getting a man into bed, I've found, but rarely for keeping him there. I would be very pleased if you dropped mine."

Sera grinned as the Tevinter man blushed faintly. "Well, I'll leave you to it," she said. "I'd say shout if you need me, but well, yeah."

She crawled over the noble to the window and stepped onto the roof. They barely noticed her go, already caught up in each other. She heard a noise below her and saw Cullen pressed against the wall behind the tavern. The tip of a blond head was all that showed beneath his own curls, and there were delicate hands wound around his neck.

_Well, that's them all sorted. What to do now?_

She saw Varric heading across the courtyard and smiled. He'd given her bad advice. Time for another prank.


	6. Cullen

Leliana's spies concerned themselves with matters large and small. From schemes to topple Thedas to the preferences of a housemaid in service to a minor noble, there was nothing beneath their attention. Most of the time, this was good. Sera had more than shown them the power of a seemingly lowly-placed servant, and the Inquisition had benefited from its comprehensive knowledge in thousands of ways.

This time was not one of them. The Nightingale had found out it was Commander Cullen's birthday, and now the entire Keep was drunk.

"To the Commander!" Cullen heard as he sat at his desk. The revelry had started in the tavern but only briefly, as the courtyards were bursting with well-wishers, subordinates, and even those who wouldn't recognize him in or out of armor. Their shouts were loud enough to reach Corypheus's prison in the Fade, he was sure. It was good for morale. But while he approved, in a general sense, of the release of tension that came from a good celebration, he really wished it wasn't at his expense.

He checked the level of the candle next to him. He'd promised Leliana he'd attend as soon as he was done with his work. She'd given a very graphic explanation of why that timeline would only lead to his suffering, so he'd amended it to 7 o'clock. The candle told him he had maybe ten minutes left. He intended to relish it. Not that he was getting any work done.

A blond head danced across his vision, and he smiled against his will. Evelyn had promised to be back in time to celebrate, and that was the only part of the entire blasted night that he was looking forward to. She'd been away in the Hissing Wastes for three weeks, and Maker did he miss her. Before she'd gone, he'd known he loved her. The nights they'd spent together had him convinced she felt the same way, even though neither had gone so far as to say it yet.

No more. She was his darkness and his sunlight all bundled into a quiet woman who made his heart sing. Boldness would be his gift to himself.

He bent his head to his paperwork again when a voice came from above him. "You're late."

Cullen pushed back from his desk in a panic, realizing that he wasn't wearing his sword exactly one second before he figured out who it must be. "Cole. How did you get in here? I locked all of the doors."

"Your roof isn't locked. They want you to come to the party."

"Just a few more minutes. Then I'll come."

"No!" shouted someone from outside his door. "Cole, drag him out here!" It was difficult to tell through the wood and around the general noise, but it sounded like Dorian.

"A few more minutes!" Cullen yelled.

"I'll get Bull up here! I'll do it!"

Cole hopped to the ground. "The Iron Bull unlocks doors with his fists, and then they don't lock again."

"Yes, quite," said Cullen. He sighed and crossed to the door, flinging it open with bad grace.

Dorian grinned at him. He was already holding a half-empty goblet. "There's always an easy way, isn't there Commander? Time to join the festivities." The mage wrinkled his nose. "Well, almost time. That ensemble is not going to pass muster."

Cullen looked down at himself. "What's wrong with it?" The armor was carefully stored, all the better for people not to recognize him, but the shirt and pants he was wearing were clean and free of patches.

"Oh Commander. I know Ferelden has less exacting standards, but surely some of my impeccable fasion sense must have transferred to you. You look like a farmer. And a Chantry boy. A Chantry boy who works on a farm and takes care of the dogs," said Dorian. He turned beside him. "Don't you agree?"

Vivienne detached herself from the shadows, and Cullen groaned audibly. She gave him a cool smile. "Too true, my dear. While the Imperium's views on magic are entirely backwards, in sartorial matters they could almost pass for Orlesian."

"Bully for them," said Cullen. He crossed his arms. "These are the clothes that I have."

She held up the bundle she was carrying. "For you, Commander. Courtesy of Val Royeaux and ordered by the charming Lady Montilyet. Exactly to your size."

Cullen shrank back. "How does she have my size?"

"Well, I offered to get it for her," said Dorian. "I have remarkable powers of observation when motivated, but I was overruled. The armorers have your measurements. Now, are you going to dress yourself, or must we help you along? I vote for the latter, if there's to be a vote."

When Cullen balked, the Tevinter man added, "I'm sure the Inquisitor will be most appreciative when she returns."

Cullen's stomach clenched as that sunk in. She was a noble, after all. Perhaps he should make an effort to be less of a soldier and more of a gentleman. And it was just clothes, after all. He snatched them away from Vivienne, gestured Cole out the door, and then slammed it on them with a force just short of rudeness. When he finished changing, he felt strangled and silly, but the two mages assured him that he looked every inch the aristocrat.

As he followed them down the stairs, the thought wryly, _At least no one will recognize me now._

* * *

His other fear, that he would be overdressed for the citizens of Skyhold - beyond Vivienne and Dorian, who thought that silk was a basic right for all - was quickly assuaged. Plenty of soldiers and servants and general fetchers were wearing nothing but their usual clothes, but those who had the inclination had dressed up considerably. They mingled together easily, high class and low brow, and that more than anything soothed him. A fancy party for a decidedly roughneck man should be no less welcoming.

Leliana exploded in good-natured laughter when she saw him in Solas's room, but she raised up on her toes to give him a kiss and whispered in his ear, "A certain lady will be well pleased with your bearing this evening, Commander." She was wearing a gown that was severely and dangerously cut, and he envied her confidence in it.

He blushed and tugged at his jacket when she stepped back. "I look like an idiot."

"No, you look like a prince and a very pretty sight for us all. Right, Josie?"

The ambassador had clapped her hands in delight at his approach, then started circling him. "Yes, the tailors did an excellent job. All of your assets are displayed to perfection." He twisted around as she said it and saw her eyes sweep over his backside.

The urge to cover it with his hands was strong. "Please don't discuss my assets," he said instead.

Dorian reappeared with two drinks, one that he pressed into the Commander's hands. "We can do it in front of you or behind your back, but you'll never be able to stop us. Though in this case in front of you would also be behind you. It really is quite a sight."

Cullen gulped the ale quickly, relishing the burn on his throat and the subsequent head rush. Maybe he could get his face so red that no one would see him blushing.

"Come now, don't torture the poor man on his birthday," said Leliana. She hooked her arm through his and squeezed. "Let's go find more of your well-wishers."

As they stepped into the Hall, Varric spotted him immediately. "The birthday boy! To the Commander!" he shouted in a loud voice. Echoes of the cry rang throughout the Hall, then into the courtyards, then up to the battlements. Cullen sighed and smiled. Time to enjoy his party.

* * *

An hour later he was looking for an escape. Just a quiet corner. Just for a few minutes. Unfortunately most quiet corners had been occupied by Skyhold residents who were celebrating his birthday in less traditional ways. Or possibly more.

One of the ladies in the last corner he checked had Evelyn's hair, if not her face, and he turned aside hastily. She hadn't made an appearance yet, and he was growing more and more nervous.

_Evelyn, I love you. Please give me the gift of being your husband._ No, too much obligation in that. He didn't want her to feel beholden. _Evelyn, I want to marry you._ No. That sounded like he was commanding her, like one of his lieutenants. _Evelyn, I am lost without you. My life is yours. Please marry me._

He groaned. Too desperate. Everything he'd thought was so poetic when he'd come up with the idea now sounded clinging and hollow. Maybe another night, when he wasn't so drunk. Or was drunker. Or less the bumbling self he was.

Cullen touched the letter and the box he'd remembered to swap into his new clothing. No. He was the Commander of the largest army in Thedas. He'd survived Ferelden's Circle. He'd defeated mad Templars and even madder mages. He would not falter now. The Maker would sustain him.

Suddenly he knew where to go that would be quiet. Even in Leliana's most decadent parties, the small room off of the herb garden with Andraste's statue would be protected from debauchery. He frowned a little as he walked. Well, maybe not. Leliana wasn't very picky about debauchery. But it was worth a shot.

A few people stopped him on his way, wished him well, and he greeted and joked with them as best he could. When he reached the door he prayed quickly and was blessed with dark silence inside. He stepped in and checked the corners for more enthusiastic lovers. In the complete darkness, he had to get right up to the walls to be sure, but fortunately it was just him.

He turned back and closed the door, then breathed out quietly. _Thank you, Andraste, for this gift._

Rolling some of the tension out of his shoulders, he focused on calming his mind. Meditation had been helpful with his lyrium cravings, and he slipped into its familiar waves easily. He relaxed so completely that he almost jumped out of his skin when, for the second time that night, a voice came from a room he'd thought was empty. "Is the guest of honor tired of his party already?"

Evelyn. He rubbed his jaw as he turned around. "There was no one left I hadn't talked to."

It was too dark to see her face, but he heard the smile in her voice. "Well then, I'm glad I showed up when I did. I wouldn't like to have to compete for your attention."

"True. You always did prefer fights that were fair for the other side."

She laughed and stepped towards him. "You look delicious, by the way," she said.

Cullen reached out to her indistinct figure and pulled her closer. "How do you know?" he asked. "It's too dark to see more than an outline."

"You always do. But I also followed you here. Snuck in behind you. I'm a very good rogue, you know." She breathed the last and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "It was a perfect view to follow." Her hand reached behind him and squeezed gently.

He lost control at the touch and spun her sideways to pin her against the wall. His mouth devoured hers while she explored him, and he felt her laugh with joy at his abandon. His lips moved to her cheek, her ear, her neck, and he let his own hands wander down her. There was a lot of bare skin, only the merest hint of fabric, and he was wild to know what she looked like. But not now, not while she was panting underneath him, not while her hands were brushing across him, not while he had her hair rolling between his fingers.

When she spun them around to take the lead, he groaned as his back hit the wall. He opened his eyes to watch the glitter in her own, but she was still so dark and indistinct, and it wasn't enough. He tore his eyes away from her to look for a light source, and his eyes fell on the dark shape of Andraste's statue. He stiffened at the reminder of where they were.

Evelyn pulled away. "What's wrong?" she asked. No anger, no fear, just quiet, business-like concern. He loved that about her.

"I just… I forgot who was watching," he said. He was grateful that she couldn't see his blush. "I came in here because I thought no one would dare to, well, in a church room."

She didn't laugh, though he was sure she was grinning at him. "You can take the boy out of the Chantry…"

"Something like that."

"Even if I'm her Herald, and I say it's okay?"

"That might make it worse," he said. "It's probably unforgiveable to philander with a holy icon anywhere, much less in a holy place."

"Philander? You make it sound so sordid. I like it." But she stepped away, tempering the joke with understanding. A light sigh drifted towards him. "At least I know you missed me."

"Never doubt that. It was agony while you were gone."

"For me, too," she said. "But I'm back now. Care to dance, Commander? Outside, of course."

He followed her as she opened the door and stepped through, then stopped short as soon as he saw her dress. If it could be called a dress. Or clothing. He was sure that people weren't meant to wear things quite so sheer or so form-fitting. And while the light blue gown fell to a very elegant length, it certainly didn't reach the heights he'd been led to believe a young noblewoman would find appropriate. The scars she bore on her skin from close combat were silvery under the moonlight, and somehow those marks made her look even more undressed than she already did.

His mouth watered, but he made sure not to let his body touch hers as he swung her around behind him. He looked down at her face determinedly. "I can't let you go out there like that," he said.

She looked down at herself. "Like what?"

"In that thing!" He gestured up and down without moving his eyes.

"Josephine assured me it was very fashionable," she said. She stared at him uncertainly. "Do you not like it?"

Oh sweet Maker. "Of course I do. You look… well, irresistible is a word that seems appropriate. But everyone else will think so, too. I know Varric's books talk a lot about undressing someone with their eyes, but a thought would be enough for you in this."

She relaxed. "Oh, good. That's what I was hoping for." He growled, and she patted his cheek. "From you, Cullen. I hoped it would be a nice gift."

"It is. But I don't want the entire Hold to see it."

"Even if they know I only wore it for you?" she asked sweetly. Her hand was still on her cheek, but now it curved possessively. Her voice lowered. "I'm yours. You're mine. They all know it. Dance with me."

Her words went straight to his groin without consulting his brain, and he pushed her roughly away, towards the door. When she only looked at him expectantly, he raked his eyes over her hungrily, without embarrassment. Only after he was done memorizing every detail of her appearance did he hold out his arm in escort position. She took it quickly and followed when he led her back to the hall, where the music was. He took her in his arms, reveling in the feel of her under his hands, and they danced.

* * *

The rest of the party passed both slowly and quickly. He no longer had to fight to enjoy himself, as Evelyn went with him everywhere and was never far away from his touch. She held his hand while they talked to people he barely knew, she curved under his arm when the fireworks, courtesy of Bull's demolition expert, crested over the Hold, and she pressed her mouth to his eagerly whenever someone asked if he'd gotten his birthday kiss yet.

It was the latter that made the night drag so slowly. Cullen had a strong will, but every man had his limits. She blew past every single one of his with barely any effort. While they were talking to Dorian and Vivienne again, he finally snapped. "I think it's time to retire."

Dorian smiled. "So early? The party has only begun, Commander."

"The Inquisitor had a long journey today. She needs her rest."

"Oh, granted. That doesn't mean you have to go, surely?" asked Dorian archly. When Cullen only glared, the other man raised his hands in surrender. "I suppose you are rather elderly by now. Not as virile as you used to be."

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

Cullen finished his drink quickly. "Please let's leave. Or talk about anything else."

"I am a bit tired," she said. "I think it's time to go."

Vivienne stepped towards her. "Are you well, my dear? You're not overtaxing yourself?"

"I'm fine. Just a lot of sun and sand and nothingness. Don't worry," said Evelyn. She gave them all a reassuring look, then tugged Cullen towards her quarters. "Good night everyone."

They waved at them, but Cullen didn't notice. He finally allowed himself to watch her again as she swayed towards the door, and he approved of the movement of her hips with every fiber of his being. She gave him a devilish look over her shoulder, and he knew she was doing it on purpose. The stairs had never seemed so numerous as she climbed them in front of him.

And yet when they reached her room, she didn't rush to him. She didn't even sink to the bed. She stood in the middle of the room, quietly, fidgeting in her beautiful dress. He was almost past reason, but he loved her, and there was something wrong. She needed him to rein himself in.

Cullen forced himself to stay at the top of the stairs, with his hand on the banister. "What is it?"

The room was quiet. She didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I thought that I could wait until the morning, but it doesn't seem right."

"Are you leaving again?" He wracked his brain, trying to think of a mission or request that would take her away.

"No. Not that," she said. "It's just that I might not be wearing this dress again for a while."

He relaxed. "Well, I hope not. I may be aging at a rapid rate, but I still only have birthdays once a year."

"You're not old," she said irritably. "You're perfect. And I would wear this for you anytime, if you like it. Only I can't." She sighed. "I don't know if this is a good birthday gift or not, but I'm pregnant, Cullen."

The few noises left in the room faded out as his mind stuttered. She placed her hand over her stomach, her stomach that was covered by a blue sheer gown that couldn't have seemed less important.

"I'm sorry?" he said. He shifted uncertainly as she watched him.

"Solas confirmed it on the way back from the Wastes. I hadn't been feeling well. He noticed. He thought it was an injury. It wasn't." Tears gathered in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I thought I was careful. Something must have gone wrong. I don't expect you to…"

As she trailed off, a growing horror filled him. "You think I won't stay with you?"

"You've talked enough about the trials of your sister with her children and how many soldiers falter when they have their own that I know you're not looking for fatherhood. I wouldn't force it on you. I can manage." She looked down at her dress. "I had already planned this, before I knew. I thought I could give us a last night. But I couldn't. I'm really sorry."

He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her to him. He wanted to pour all of his strength into it, but he was so aware now of the life inside of her that he didn't dare. Their life, together. "I want this more than you could ever know, Evelyn Trevelyan. Marry me."

She'd started to relax at his touch, then stiffened again at his last words. "No. You don't have to do that. I'm not afraid of what people will say," she said into his chest.

"Neither am I. I am afraid of seeing another year without being your husband. We can wait for the wedding as long as you want. If you want to have the baby first, I will wait for you. But please say yes." He pulled away and looked down at her. "Please."

When she still looked unsure, he took his hand away from her shoulder and pulled out the two things he'd carried with him all night. He held out the box to her. "I was going to give you this after, well, after the bed. But now seems better."

She opened it suspiciously, then looked up in surprise. "It's a necklace." She pulled it out and held it in front of her. The metal was dull and circular, but in its center was a delicate pattern of green jewels.

"Yes. Jeweled rings are too dangerous for soldiers, even for rogues like you," he said affectionately. "This seemed better. It's the coin you gave back to me, for luck. And the jewels are green, for your eyes, and in the shape of the Rutherford family crest, such as it is. Whether or not you'll be my wife, I'd like you to wear it. Carry me with you."

His eyes filled with tears as she stared at it, then slipped the chain over her head. It looked ridiculous with the gown she was wearing, which was designed to be the only adornment, but the sight of it only made him want her more. He ran his fingers down the length of the chain, and smiled when he felt her shiver under his touch.

"What's the letter?" she asked. Her lips parted when he reached the pendant and circled it with his finger.

Cullen stilled his hand, and she made a noise of protest. "I wrote to your father, to ask him for his blessing. Not his permission. I know how you feel about that. But you're a noble. I wanted to do things correctly."

She gaped at him. "You went to my father? How long have you been thinking about this?"

"Long enough. So will you?"

"Under one condition," she said. He waited for her to continue, his heart in his throat. She grinned. "That you wear exactly what you have on for the wedding. I don't know what they did, but you have never looked so tempting."

He dropped the letter and grabbed her around the waist while he forced her back to the bed. She fell, laughing, and he twisted away to avoid landing on her. She wasted no time in rolling on top of him, and he held her hips while she smiled at him.

"I love you," he said, and he didn't look away when she bit her lip.

"And this is okay?" She touched her stomach again.

"It's better than okay. It does an old man's heart good to know he's still capable of it."

She smacked him across the shoulders and grumbled as she kissed him, but he knew by the end of the night exactly how much she loved him. It was more than he'd ever hoped.

* * *

The next morning he snuck down to the kitchens to get her food and to ask her guards to keep them undisturbed. To his shock, Dorian was already there waiting with a tray. "Good morning, Commander! Did she say yes?"

He paled. "What do you mean?"

"Come now. Don't you know Leliana reads all of our mail? Sloppy of you to write it down so plainly."

"Well, if you must know, yes she did." He tried to sound angry, but he was too happy to carry it off. And besides, Dorian still didn't know everything.

"Excellent. It's so important for children to have stable parents, don't you think?" The mage deposited the tray in Cullen's hands and strolled off. "I'm already planning to be an extremely troublesome uncle."

Before he made it into the hall, Dorian turned around. "You can thank us all later for our clothing help, by the way. Without it, who knows what might have happened?" He left with a wink.

Cullen shook his head. He added a few more things to the tray, things he knew Evelyn would like, and headed back to the Hall. She'd be just waking up soon, if he was any judge. He thought of her stretched out in her bed, blinking sleep out of her lovely eyes. His pace quickened. Suddenly he was very hungry.


	7. Vivienne

The finest dress shop in Val Royeaux was, for as long as they desired, the province of the Inquisition. Evelyn had protested the use of force in taking the territory, but Vivienne only shook her head. "My dear, one simply must be firm when shopping in Orlais. It's the only way they'll understand you have status."

If the restored First Enchantress had anything to say about it, not a merchant in the city would ever doubt the Inquisitor's status again.

And so, with only a few delicate words, and one very subtle reminder of the magical power she could choose to unleash at any point, though of course she never would, how could the man think she would ever… they had their shop. The light frost on her fingers subsided very quickly after he barred the door from any other customers.

The proprietor grew much more enthusiastic once the level of custom the party would provide became clear. Corypheus was defeated, the known rifts entirely sealed, and the time for messy battles and messier armor was passing like a dream. It was time for diplomacy, the velvet glove, and Vivienne had no intention of letting their leader enter the fray unprepared.

And her companions could be no less suitably attired, no matter how they protested.

Fizzy wine in thin flutes rested on the tables of the showing room, and Vivienne sipped hers appreciatively. Not the best stock they had, she knew, but she allowed the man this one slight. Anything better would only be wasted on this group. But she would make sure he knew that she knew, for the next time she returned.

Sera, sitting on the closest divan, proved the wisdom of that restraint admirably. The elf tilted her head back and swallowed the contents in one gulp, then made a face. "Euuuuh. I'm supposed to get drunk off of this? I'll be puking bubbles before I get half close, yeah?"

Vivienne put a hand to her forehead. "It's not designed for intoxication, darling. It's meant to be appreciated. Slowly," she added pointedly as Sera tilted another glass back.

The girl wiped her lips on the back of her hand. "Well, what I would appreciate," she said in mockingly cultured tones, "if I have to be here, is some ale. Do you think they have any?"

Cassandra appeared in front of them, trailed by a woman with an armful of gowns. "Though I do not desire alcohol, I must once again protest at this frivolous use of my time. We are in a delicate stage of training. If I must have these… these garments, surely they can simply be purchased by others and sent to Skyhold?"

The shop assistant trilled in horror, "Oh no, Princess. Each gown must be examined and tested to make sure it flatters you in all the right ways. Especially with your striking cheekbones. We simply must draw attention to them with bold lines."

The Seeker mumbled something about striking that had the woman quietly excusing herself. Vivienne sat up languorously. "Really, Cassandra, the Pentaghast line must have prepared you for this in some small way. They would not let such vital royal knowledge be ignored for a sword," she said.

"Yes, there were lessons in royal matters, including proper dress and manners," said Cassandra. "I have knowledge of many things. I also have the knowledge to burn the lyrium within you to painful fire, but you will notice I am not currently employing this skill."

A few months ago, Vivienne might have taken that as an invitation for an intimate lesson in magical pain. But she'd learned a lot about the woman since then, including how to handle her. Now she simply smiled. "And isn't that a blessing to us all. I liked the violet gown the woman held. Try that one, my dear." She turned to Sera and added, "You, of course, already have a frothy blue creation waiting for you."

Both women looked at her with mutinous eyes, but Vivienne merely waited. It didn't take long.

"Are you fighting out there? No fighting. This is Girl's Day Out!" called Evelyn from the changing area. A giggle came, followed by a squeal. "Leliana, you're going to be The Divine! That's indecent!"

Sera sighed and stood up. "Her Inquistorialness wouldn't know indecent if it stripped naked in the courtyard. Probably something bloody ridiculous," she said, but there was a wicked smile on her lips as she headed for the partitions.

The tall figure of the Seeker didn't move. "You should have let Dorian take my place, as he wished."

"Nonsense," said Vivienne. "Not only would a Tevinter mage have caused mass panic in the shop, but if we allowed that, then Varric would have insisted on being allowed Sera's place. Quite unthinkable. And the Inquisitor was quite insistent on the outing being for only women, you remember. A bonding activity suitable for us all. The men are having their own, I'm sure charming, outing."

"She was only insistent after you told her to be!"

Vivienne shrugged. "And?"

"Cassandra, get in here!" said Josephine. "There's a dragon! We need your help!" An explosion of laughter, led by Sera, filled the store.

"It's really big!" said Sera. "And mean. It can only be tamed by you! Hurry!"

Cassandra muttered, "In the name of everything holy, what now?" as she walked towards the partition.

Just as she reached it, wearing an exasperated look, Evelyn peeked her head out. "Oh, nevermind. It was just Varric's throbbing desire." She ducked her head back before Cassandra could react. "To be fair, it is very large!" she added around peals of laughter.

"His desire is. Not what is actually throbbing," said Leliana. "Though who knows? Perhaps both are!"

The Seeker looked back at Vivienne with pleading eyes. The mage crossed her legs. "The violet gown, Lady Seeker. It will do wonders for your coloring."

As though she'd been summoned by spell, the shop woman materialized with the requested garment, and Cassandra disappeared. Growling and laughter alternated at random, and Vivienne sipped her flute with a small smile. It faded slowly as she remembered her last visit to the shop. Bastien had escorted her in the last days before his illness truly took hold, only weeks before the hole in the sky appeared and Vivienne offered her aid to the Inquisitor.

He'd sat patiently, pale but strong, as she tried on garment after garment. None was right, and the pile around her grew deeper and more desperate the more she'd searched. Eventually she'd snapped at the woman to leave her be, then stood trembling behind the thin wood in only her lingerie. She'd pretended to herself that it was the cold, though the cold that lived constantly inside her made the cool shop feel like a desert at noon. She'd breathed deeply with her eyes closed to gather herself.

She'd almost made it back to her center when familiar hands had circled her waist. "Nothing to suit?" Bastien had asked softly.

"No. I'm afraid their standards have fallen rather below my own in these last months."

He'd smiled against her neck. "Your standards are exacting, my jewel. Let's come back later, in a few weeks. Perhaps your expectations will be met, then."

She'd turned in the circle of his arms to answer with a kiss. The weakness of his voice didn't dim the humor as he added, "You're already dressed exactly how I like you best, anyway."

They'd never returned, of course, and he'd slipped away while she was saving the world. She hadn't seen him enough in those last months. She'd barely seen him at all. And she certainly hadn't mourned him outside of that musty room of death.

She knew several in the Empire wondered why she stayed with the Inquisitor, who hadn't made her Divine and had reached an accord with the mages that was more liberal than she'd advised. They would never understand. Evelyn had put her life in danger at Vivienne's unexplained request, had sincerely wanted to save a man who was dying, and then had understood the pain of his loss with hardly a word. That was a woman to follow to the end.

"Madame de Fer?" the proprietor said, jolting her out of her reverie.

"Yes?"

"My apologies for the intrusion, but we found this in the back room as we were looking for gowns with more 'strappy bits', as your charming elven friend called them." He held out a box. "It was commissioned for you some time ago, but due to the war and the rarity of the materials, it was only completed last week. I'd thought we sent it to your home, but it was still here. Please accept it, with our gratitude."

Vivienne's eyebrow raised in question, but she opened the card affixed to the package and read.

_My dearest lady,_

_While there is no gown in Thedas which can cure an old man of his age, I adore you for trying. I hope this gift may come close and will suit you in life as well as it does in my dreams._

_Yours, Bastien_

She prided herself on the lack of pain on her face when she lifted the lid of box. Inside was a creamy white creation with iridescent dragon scales rippling in bands around the fabric. When she held it up they winked at her, and she knew without even trying it on it would be daringly, barely decently cut in the front. He'd always loved that look on her the most.

Dreamily, she stood and let the box fall. Without moving to the changing area she disrobed and slipped into the gown. The employees were too well-trained to comment, but she hardly noticed them in any case. In her mind it was Bastien watching, approving and disapproving in turns as she covered and uncovered and covered skin again. When she was done, she didn't need a mirror to tell her the fit was perfect.

_This might have healed him,_ she thought. _It could have been enough._

While she was lost in memories, Evelyn ran around the corner in a dress of her own. The rest followed a little more slowly, but all in filmy gowns. "Vivienne," said Evelyn, "I need your help to know if this looks good."

The rogue stopped short and her mouth opened wide. All the women seemed stunned as they studied her, but she smiled with no embarrassment. "You all look marvelous. Especially you, my dear," she said to Cassandra.

She turned to the shopkeepers. "Please wrap all of these while the ladies select a second gown." Leliana, Josephine and Evelyn smiled and dashed back around the corner, while Sera and Cassandra groaned.

Thirty minutes later, all gowns had been selected and the merchant had a wide smile on his face at the stack of boxes. "Thank you for your patronage, ladies. You're welcome back at any time. And we will attempt to stock ale for you whenever you wish, my lady."

"Right. I'm telling you, the people will love it." Sera swallowed a final glass of wine and burped hugely, but the man's face didn't move an inch. Gold bought a lot of tolerance, and power uncovered even more.

Josephine looked over at Vivienne as she negotiated the payment. "Your gowns are also covered by the Inquisition, enchantress."

"Thank you, ambassador, but this item was already paid for," she said. She looked down at the gift that still hugged her body. "I'll wear it out of the store, I believe. Ensure my clothing is wrapped and delivered to the hotel along with the rest." She swept out without pausing for acknowledgement and imagined Bastien would be standing there, waiting.

* * *

They visited a shoe store next, in deference to Leliana's wishes, and Evelyn and Sera spent much of their time competing to see who could wobble on higher heels. Vivienne spent her persuasion cajoling Cassandra into purchasing a few pairs that were less utilitarian than her usual leather boots. The woman protested that she'd never wear them but capitulated after Josephine mentioned that she wore the same size. "At least I can give them to her if need be," muttered Cassandra as she added the boxes to the pile.

Josephine chose the spa, where servants fairly scurried to please the Inquisition without Vivienne having to raise a finger. She smiled. Word must have spread about them. All to the better.

They paid the earth, of course, but that was all well and good so long as one received it. The women were massaged, oiled, relaxed and pampered to within an inch of their lives. The irrepressible laughter somewhat abated under the soothing care, though Sera's entrepreneurial spirit showed itself in speculation about the mud treatments and how they related to the ground outside of Skyhold's tavern.

"If this muck was worth 10 gold," she said, "I bet we could get even more for Skyhold stuff. It being touched by the Inquisitor's boots and all. Sure to be healing powers in that!"

The rest of the women smiled indulgently, but Leliana actually seemed to be considering it as they submitted to their massages. "You know, that could work to raise funds. Not mud, of course, but items of the Inquisitor's. Like Skyhold souvenirs. And of course, the most ardent followers would bear a lot of watching. An early warning for trouble."

"You can't auction my things off like an estate sale! I'm not even dead!"

"Not your personal items, of course, but pens… or cups… things like that," said Leliana.

Cassandra groaned into the table. "Ridiculous. Only the truly insane would purchase these things."

"I agree," said Evelyn. "And I'm definitely not leaving any of my cups behind me from now on."

Sera turned her head to the side and whispered to Vivienne, "Does that mean no to the mud?"

The mage shook her head. "I'm sure you may take all the mud you wish and be welcome to it."

"Perfect. Just need someone to sell it then. Probably normal merchants won't do it, too messy or whatever."

"Varric likely has some contacts in the Merchant's Guild," offered Josephine. "Probably of unusual taste."

"Why do you encourage her?" asked Cassandra.

"Of course, he may be too engaged in writing to have the time, I suppose," the Antivan said evilly. "I hear he works at all hours of the day and night to deliver the latest chapters of _Swords and Shields_ to his waiting maiden."

The women, aside from Vivienne, murmured agreement as Cassandra sputtered. "I wish you would stop. The sales of the book are improving, which is why he writes more. There is no special favor to me in it."

Leliana laughed. "Did he tell you that? Either he or his publisher lies most prettily, Cassandra." The bard pushed up on her elbows as the masseuses left. "No, I'm afraid the favors are very special indeed. He enjoys being bothered by you about it. Perhaps you should be more bothersome."

"At the very least let him read the next one to you instead of hiding away," said Evelyn. "His voice alone would be worth it."

She blushed when everyone looked at her. "What? Oh Maker, please don't tell Cullen I said that."

"Fear not, Your Grace. Girl's Day Out secrets are sacred," said Josephine with a wink.

Cassandra ignored them and turned to Vivienne. "Please. Save me from these juveniles. You're sane. Worldly. You understand how ludicrous this is."

"If you ask me to refrain from making sport of your discomfort, my dear, that need never be said. I take no pleasure in the agony of love," said Vivienne.

"Thank you," said Cassandra and looked triumphantly at the rest of the group. After a second, she frowned. "Wait. What do you mean?"

"I mean that you were correct in your assessment. I am both sane and worldly, though it takes only a hint of either to see the man's regard for you," said Vivienne. She wrapped a robe around her and headed for the door. "I have seen much of lust and love, and he holds both when you meet. What you choose to do about it is, of course, entirely up to you."

* * *

Cassandra's choice of activity was the theater, a pleasant but entirely incongruous choice to Vivienne until she realized what was playing at the moment. It was a populist play, an adventurous love story with frenzied battles and even more frenzied passion. It was practically the dreadful Tethras serial brought to life, and the Seeker was insensible with anticipation.

"It is only the third play written by this author, and it's said to be the most romantic one yet," she said, clasping her hand to her bosom. This morning, Vivienne and Evelyn had talked her out of her armor and into a plain but fashionably cut tunic, and now it billowed behind her as she moved. She continued, not noticing the bemused looks of her companions. "I could not believe it when it was playing here at this time. And that we got seats."

Vivienne stepped back in surprise as the Seeker rounded on her suddenly. The taller woman enveloped her in a hug, and she returned it gingerly, patting Cassandra on the back. "Thank you," said Cassandra.

"It was no trouble. The dear Duke's box is still engaged, and Duchess was happy to accommodate a request of the Inquisition," she said. More than happy. This was not a play that would appeal to Her Grace in the least. "I'm pleased it can be used for such a noble purpose."

The Seeker released her and turned back around, chattering to Josephine happily. Sera made good-natured fun behind her, much to Leliana's amusement. Evelyn, instead of laughing, slipped back to walk alongside Vivienne. "Are you okay?" the Inquisitor asked in a low voice.

Evelyn was insightful, for all she was young, and she sensed her companions more clearly than the rest. Since the dress shop, the memories of the Duke had faded a little. Never gone, not while the gown walked with her, but the spa had been clean of him, and the pain had faded to the usual dull ache.

This outing would be different. The box had been theirs for many wonderful nights. Vivienne didn't try to hide her sorrow from the Inquisitor. At least not more than she hid it from herself. "It will be difficult, of course," she said. "The Duke and I enjoyed many fine evenings at the Royal Theater. Still, it must be done at some point, and I am glad to have your support."

"Okay," said Evelyn. She bit her lip. "I didn't know the Duke, but from what you described he would be proud of you for facing this. He would want you to remember without pain."

"Oh yes, dear, he would want that very much. But neither he, nor you, get to choose my pain," she said. "That decision is mine alone. Nevertheless, your words are kindly meant. I thank you for them.

Vivienne ran a hand over the scale line on her dress. She felt a tear gathering in her eye and blinked once, freezing it before it could fall and reveal her.

She changed the subject. "I must ask you, why did you not choose a destination for the day? I know after this Sera will have us at a tavern with our mugs in the air, but there was never a choice for you."

Evelyn smiled. "Because I didn't care. I just wanted a day like this. I never had sisters, or many girlfriends, and nobles in the Marches weren't encouraged to flit about in any case. At least not in my father's household. I really wanted to know what it was like to have a day out, just girls, just silliness. And you know what? It's the best thing in the world. I haven't laughed so much in years!"

"I'm glad for you. But next time we really must allow you to choose. You're the Inquisitor. Do not bow too easily to other's whims."

They reached the theater early, exceedingly so, too early to even enter as the prior performance was still in progress. They waited outside, and when the doors finally opened to allow the matinee audience to leave, Cassandra was bouncing on her feet. Vivienne did strive not to be amused at her companions' expenses, but even she was having trouble keeping a straight face. "Please, Cassandra, don't strain yourself," she said.

"I know, I'm simply -"

Vivienne would never hear what she simply was, because a voice called out, "Hey, Seeker!" Varric waved at them from the door, where he was swiftly joined by Cullen, Iron Bull, Dorian, Blackwall and Cole.

"Oh no, boys," said Evelyn and Sera together, then laughed. Despite her professed dismay, the Inquisitor waved Cullen over and kissed him soundly over the vomiting noises from Sera.

The rest of them were much more interested in Varric, who greeted each of them cheerfully but had eyes that strayed back to Cassandra more often than not. "So, didn't expect to find you here," he said. "Come to see the latest bloody adventure tale?"

"It's a romance story, as you well know. I can't believe you saw it first. How was it? Did you enjoy it?" asked Cassandra. She slashed a hand in front of her. "No, wait. I don't wish to know. I wish to go in without knowing anything.

Varric started to speak before she cut him off again. "But was it wonderful? Did they fall in love? No. Wait. They must. Otherwise who would go to see it?"

"Well, it's very much like her other plays," said Varric. "Although the ending in this one -"

"Don't tell me about the ending!" yelped Cassandra.

Vivienne rolled her eyes and walked away. She was truly hopeful that the woman would find the romance Varric was so clearly ready to give her, but the noise of their courtship was too much to bear.

Dorian and Bull stood away from the din, and she joined them. She waved off their compliments of her new clothing with alacrity. "So how was it, truly?" she asked.

"Dreck," said Dorian. "Absolute dreck. If it weren't for the cocktails and the handsome men serving them, it would have been an utter waste."

Bull nodded, and Vivienne murmured sympathetically. Dorian threw his hands up. "At least your torturer will actually enjoy it. Varric only went to impress her. I left more impressed with his capacity for self-abuse, personally."

"I realize the Imperium is heavily invested in allowing only non-mages to suffer, but in Orlais we do not place ourselves so highly above those we aid."

"Yes, extremely insightful as usual," said Dorian. "If the Magisterium is ever looking for a goodwill ambassador to spread their joy here in the south, I'll be sure to mention your name."

"Well I think all of you magic users are nuts," Bull said. "Hey, my plan is that we end this night at a relatively clean bar down the road. I assume you'll be drinking as well?" When Vivienne nodded with a pained look, he smiled. "Great. Come to the same place. The Grand Game, it's called. I've had enough male bonding to last me to the next Blight."

The ushers began taking tickets for new entrants, and Dorian gave her a nasty grin. "Enjoy your cultural experience, enchantress."

Bull shook his head sadly. "Too much sexual tension, not enough sex."

"Your review of the play?" asked Vivienne, arching an eyebrow.

Bull tipped his head to Varric and Cassandra, who were still arguing animatedly. "Yeah, that too."

* * *

At the bar later, Vivienne had to admit that she was glad the romance in the story had been horrible. Watching a truly heart-tugging tale of love from her usual seat, with the place of Bastien occupied by an Antivan ambassador, may have proved slightly too much even for her control. As it was, she'd rather enjoyed dissecting every flaw in it. Like performing an autopsy, without any blood.

The bar was relatively clean, she had to give Bull that. And it served a nice glass of wine, one she would nurse as long as was possible before leaving for the night. For now, she needed to stay. Evelyn would be disappointed if she didn't, though she was currently throwing darts with Blackwall and Sera and laughing uproariously. Leliana and Josephine had abandoned all decorum and were huddled together in a dark booth. Bull watched them with a grin and no hint of shame while Dorian, Cole and Cullen discussed something tedious over their drinks. Cassandra and Varric were busy arguing the merits of the play at much more length than it deserved.

Vivienne itched with the need to manage something. Anything. She wasn't designed to simply idle and enjoy life. Enjoyment was fine, with purpose. This was purposeless. So when Cullen left his seat for a refill, she joined him at the bar. "Commander," she said.

"Lady Vivienne. I hope you enjoyed your day in Val Royeaux," he said. "You certainly found a beautiful gown."

"Thank you, darling. You may trust that the Inquisitor's dresses are no less flattering on her." She watched coolly, but with satisfaction, as the color rose on his cheeks.

"Ah. Yes. Well, she seemed to have had a nice time, from what I gathered. We didn't speak long. She seems to be avoiding me tonight. Something about preserving the sanctity of sisterhood," he said. They both looked over at her doubled over while Sera pounded her back. Cullen sighed a little wistfully.

"You'll be seeing each other later tonight though, surely? A room is only so large, even at the finest hotel in the city."

"What? Oh. No, different rooms. I didn't think it would be quite proper to, well, assume."

Vivienne affected a look of concern. "Oh, my dear, I do apologize then. I told the desk earlier today when they needed space that we had an extra room to allow them. I had them move your things to Her Worship's room." She placed an apologetic hand over her mouth. "I hope this wasn't precipitous."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "I imagine we'll muddle through," he said dryly, and she offered him a small smile. He returned it, and she made a note to make sure to do exactly as she'd said she already had as soon as she got back to the hotel.

Cullen picked up his drink and prepared to return to Dorian, but she put a hand on his arm. "Commander. One more thing. I think it might aid you, on one of those muddling nights, to read her a story."

"A story? What kind of story?"

"One of romance and passion," she said. "She will enjoy it, I assure you."

"I'm not much of a reader," he said. "I'm not sure I could do anything justice."

"It won't matter how well you read, Ser. It will only matter how close your lips are to her ear." He blushed scarlet and left quickly, but when he paused before sitting and caught Evelyn's eye, the heat that passed between them was blinding.

It hit her like a fireball in the gut. Bastien had never been so tall nor awkward, and she had never been so innocent as the young Inquisitor, but the way their eyes met may well have been a vision of the past.

He'd seen her just that way, every time they met.

All the memories she'd been holding back washed over her at once, and it was time to leave. She turned around hurriedly and finished her drink. She'd completed a task. It was enough.

Before she could go, Cassandra trapped her unexpectedly. "That dwarf is unbelievable. He missed the entire point of the scene with the prince and the serving girl. That was the most important one! It's what made it love. It's hard to believe he writes anything worth reading," she muttered. She shook her head angrily as she reached for the ales the bartender handed her. "And I still can't believe you think he has any amorous intentions at all."

Vivienne was out of control, she knew it, and yet there was nowhere to go. The Seeker wasn't trying to contain her, but she was all the same, and the ice was rising with no outlet. Smoothly, so smoothly no one would see the desperation inside of her, she reached out to the glasses and touched them with the Fade. It froze the contents solid instantly.

"Vivienne!" said Cassandra. She stared at the mage in utter disbelief.

"Seeker," she said in a frozen voice. "You speak of romance as if you know it, of love as if you've touched it, and yet you remain a blind simpleton. See what is in front of you, or choose not to see it, it matters little to its existence. As one who would give this all, every piece of Thedas, for even one more moment to hold love, your denial of it is an affront. To me, and to us all. I said I would not make sport of your discomfort, and I will not. There's nothing entertaining about your behavior. It sickens me to watch."

Cassandra stepped back slowly to let her pass, her face stricken. "I'm sorry," she said, and Vivienne saw that she truly was. It mattered little, and did not change the truth of her words, but it gave her pause. There could not be an apology, because she felt no regret, but there could be an amends.

The power she'd drawn dissipated, sailing back across the Veil. Dorian, she realized, had half-risen in his chair at her first usage of it, but fortunately no one else had noticed. He sat down again casually, acknowledging her regained control. She looked in the Seeker's eyes and spoke more quietly. "Do not apologize to me, Cassandra. Do something."

Vivienne left.

* * *

Somehow, when she made it back to the hotel, Bull was waiting for her. She gave him her best glare and made to sweep past him. He blocked her easily, and dared her with his eyes to use magic.

"So," he said, "after you switch around the Commander's room, why don't you tell me more about your Duke?"

She made to refuse him, was already starting to shake her head, when he brushed a gentle finger over the shoulder of her dress. His face was sympathetic. "It seems like he loved you a lot."

And that's what broke her, in the end. She could love the Duke forever, whether or not he lived. He existed inside of her, always. But he'd loved her as well, and that was a feeling from without, one she couldn't carry. He was the only man, the only truly, wildly, beautiful man, who ever had. The dress was just a dress, in the end. The feeling of him would never wrap around her again, until she joined him across the Veil.

"Yes," she said. "He did."

Bull dropped his hand. And when the tears fell from her eyes, this time, she let them.


	8. Hawke

"Stop stop stop stop," said Hawke. "This is embarrassing."

Evelyn looked over her cards with exasperation. "What now?"

The dark-haired mage leaned forward onto her elbows. "You are the worst cheater I have ever tried to teach. You fumbled the bottom draw so badly that a stunned darkspawn would have seen it, and worst of all you didn't even get the right card. I switched it out myself two turns ago. I can't believe you didn't see it," she said. "Maker preserve us, I thought you were a rogue."

"Just because I could sneak my way past my father's guards doesn't make me a sleight-of-hand master," said Evelyn irritably. "I'm doing my best."

"That's what I'm afraid of," said Hawke. She rolled her eyes and put on her best diplomatic smile. "Bet twenty. Don't even try to bluff it."

Evelyn folded, as expected, but Varric grinned next to her. "I'll see that, Killer."

"Your funeral," said Hawke. She flipped over her cards and tilted her head winsomely. "High set. With honors."

Varric whistled. "Sure is a nice hand. Of course, it helps when the cards shake out of the deck in the completely wrong order," he said. "Still, I think a matched run beats it." He threw down his own cards and leaned back in his chair.

Hawke narrowed her eyes. "That's not possible. Evelyn had the ten of cups," she said.

"Yeah, funny thing that," said Varric. "It seems that while the Inquisitor was doing her dreadful bottom draw, your attention somehow wandered away from the hand she'd laid down beside her. Some of the cards may have found a new home."

The Inquisitor smiled and pulled half of Hawke's coins neatly into her own pile, shoving the rest at Varric. The dwarf tipped his head to her as he pocketed them. "Nice doing business with you, Your Worship."

"Well I'll be a nug. So you do have some deviousness in you," said Hawke. Her voice was admiring. "Maybe we'll be able to outwit those idiot Wardens after all."

An icy silence fell across the table. "We're not trying to outwit them. We're trying to help them," said Evelyn eventually. "They're victims, not idiots."

"They can be both," said Hawke with a shrug. "Either way, we're going to have to knock some sense into them."

" _I'm_ going to save them. If you're not on board with that plan, you can stay behind." The Inquisitor pushed herself away from the table and stood. "Thank you for the lesson, Hawke."

A handful the tavern's patrons watched their leader stomp away, then turned back to Hawke speculatively. She scowled and drummed her fingers on the table. "What was that about?" she asked.

Varric sighed. "You know we recruited a Warden, right? For the Inquisition? Blackwall."

Hawke nodded. "Sure. Hairy guy, likes horses."

"Well, he's also been recruited into a slightly more personal position, if you know what I mean," said Varric. "I don't think she appreciated you calling his order, and him, idiots."

"Is that all? Maker's ass. Blackwall's here. Not with the blood magic-practicing, ritual performing, darkspawn-serving morons at Adamant. That makes him not an idiot, by definition," said Hawke. She threw a glance at a nearby table, where Alistair was doing his best to charm Cassandra out of her armor. It looked like uphill work. "Some of them were smart enough to stay away."

The dwarf laughed. "First time anyone's called His Bastardness smart, I imagine," he said. "But hey, sometimes people are sensitive about people they love. Especially when they're Wardens."

She raised a sardonic eyebrow. Anders. That was always the subtext with Varric. The man couldn't stop trying to get her over something she was long past. She felt fire dancing underneath her skin and breathed in heavily. "The world doesn't need any more stupidity than it already has naturally. I don't suffer fools, Varric. I don't care who they are. Or who loves them."

"If that's what works for you," said Varric. He put his hands in the air in surrender. "It's very human, at least. But some people might say that forgiveness is divine. That's all."

He stood up and moved to a tavern table full of Chargers, leaving Hawke to her thoughts. Which, thanks to him, were darker than they should be, full of the memory of a knife sliding into the skin her fingers had memorized in the darkness.

She shook her head. What Varric didn't know about Anders could fill every dusty tome in the Amell estate library. He'd seen only the surface of Justice, the barest hints of how deep the possession ran. Varric still thought she should have saved him. She could have told him that some things were beyond saving.

Like the Grey Wardens. Their mages were being possessed by demons a lot more malevolent than Justice had ever been. They weren't coming back from this.

But that was a problem for the Inquisitor. Hawke was a lackey now, the drudge following orders. She and Alistair had joined this Inquisition, somehow, when she hadn't been paying attention. She cut another look at the unacknowledged royal. He'd coaxed a laugh out of his stoic Seeker, and she was even sipping a second drink. No one would ever guess that the woman was carved from ice with the way she was melting for him.

Alistair seemed to feel the weight of her gaze and tipped her a wink. Hawke raised her glass in reply. She should never have doubted him. He was gorgeous, witty, and utterly without scruples or inhibitions. Not that he'd used his charm directly on her, but she'd been the audience often enough. When had he ever failed with a woman?

Come to think of it, she should be looking for her own success. That would lift her spirits. She cast her eyes around her, looking for interest. Or at least non-hostility. She'd almost decided to see if Iron Bull lived up to his reputation when the door opened, and Cullen walked in.

Ah, Cullen Rutherford. Knight-Captain and enemy, then reluctant ally, then upright servant of her reign of Kirkwall. Now there was a challenge a long time in the making.

"Knight-Commander," she called. She lifted her hand at his startled look.

He smiled hesitantly and walked over to her table. "Serah Hawke. It's not Knight-Commander anymore, actually," he said.

"Oh, of course. Just Commander. Forgive me." She tried to produce a blush, with likely limited success. "My mother would have blistered my ears for fumbling such an impressive title. Especially on such a handsome man."

Cullen reddened, but he sat down in response to her gesture. "I would think a former Viscountess shouldn't be impressed by any titles."

"True," she said. "But Mother was partial to you. She was always trying to drum up reasons for me to go to the Gallows. Why she thought an apostate should try to garner more attention from the Templars I never understood." Hawke drew her finger in a pattern over the table's surface. "Not that I suspect you noticed me at all, then, despite her best efforts."

"You would have been difficult to miss," he said wryly. "Even without Meredith's weekly updates on your merry band. But I got the impression you had more male attention than any one woman could handle."

She laughed. "And who told you that?" she asked. "Or were you checking up on me?"

"Ah, no. Of course not," said Cullen, looking away. "Your brother spoke of you in the barracks. With considerable consternation. And when we worked together there was certainly no shortage of admirers."

"Well, I am a very admirable woman. But Carver exaggerated, I'm afraid. He and I never did get on much," she said. "And he neglected to say that, while I may have had gentleman suitors, none of them were ever on my mother's short list for matrimony."

"A prince of Starkhaven wasn't sufficient?"

"Oh, I'm certain he would have been, had he been content to be a prince. But a Chantry lay brother? Never," said Hawke. "And, truthfully, I would have found him rather unsatisfying as well." She smiled devilishly. "He was much more devout than the brothers in Lothering."

Cullen cleared his throat, but said nothing. He cast his eyes about, looking for rescue if she was any judge. But ultimately he made no move to leave, so Hawke scooted closer and kept talking. "Fenris, well, you can just imagine her feelings there. Varric was rich, to be sure, but unlikely to produce the children she so desperately wanted for me. And Anders…" But Anders was hard, and she pushed him away with a smile. "One mage in a relationship was quite enough for her."

"But not for you," said Cullen.

His voice held no judgment, but she felt it anyway. This was not where she wanted the conversation to go. She let vent to a feeling, just one, and concentrated it on her hand. A tongue of flame licked across her open palm. "I learned differently. Fire is a delight, but only in moderation," she said.

Cullen shifted in his seat and stared at her fingers. She chuckled and let a playful invitation enter her voice. "Does my fire make you nervous, Commander?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but she never knew what he would have said. The fire suddenly wavered and split, breaking underneath the skin into painful spears that ran up her arm. Every connection to her magic became an open wound inside of her. Hawke swore, loudly, and the tables around them turned to look. She hardly noticed, understanding too late that another table had already been paying them attention.

Cassandra stared at her coolly. "No open flames in the bar, Serah Hawke. Inquisition rules. It's too dangerous with the alcohol."

"What in the name of Andraste's knickers did you do to me? That bloody hurt," she said, shaking her arm and glaring at the Seeker.

"I was simply maintaining the Inquisitor's peace," she answered in a tone that was far too weighted for Hawke's liking. Cassandra never let her forget that she'd been the first, now forgotten, choice for the job. "If you wonder whether I can do it again, do not fear. I can."

The Nevarran turned back to Alistair, who sat tense and focused in his seat. He looked at Hawke with a furrowed brow that sent a clear message. _Are you okay?_

Like he cared. Alistair was a great many things, when he had the inclination to be, and that included a loyal friend. But she'd traveled with the man long enough to know when he was in a bar with a woman, the rest of the world could go hang. Maybe it was a reaction to the Calling he always carried in the back of his eyes. Maybe it was just his nature. Either way, his concern was certainly perfunctory.

She rolled her eyes at him. _Get back to your conquest._

Suiting action to thought, she turned back to the Templar next to her, who had a look of more genuine concern on his face. "My apologies for that. But it is the rule," he said.

"And where would we all be without our bloody rules?" she muttered, then flashed a quick smile. "But I remember you were always a stickler for them. I'll try not to shame you again."

Cullen looked at her then, really looked at her, and she didn't like what entered his eyes as he studied her. Something sad and understanding and altogether wrong. "You're no shame, Hawke," he said. "To anyone."

"I'm not? Then I must not be working hard enough," she said lightly and drained her drink. It gave her a few moments without seeing that knowing expression on his face.

She gathered her shredded purpose as best she could and moved her eyes over his body. "Still I'd be happy to show you how shameless I can be somewhere more private. No fire, I promise. Unless, of course, you're interested in that."

Her gaze was hot enough to boil a man's blood, she knew, but Cullen didn't redden under it this time. The spell she'd woven, through the lyrium of her voice and the magic of her suggestions, was broken beneath whatever he'd seen in her. But she wasn't one to give up. His chivalry would be enough to keep him here.

She allowed her shoulders to droop, just a little. "But of course, you wouldn't want me that way. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have presumed…" She sighed and laughed quietly. "Templars never did have much use for us."

To her surprise, a hard steel entered his eyes, but his voice was ruthlessly gentle. "Templars love that which they protect. The world, certainly. And also their charges," he said. He smiled and touched her hand. "But you were never a charge, were you?"

Her laugh was more genuine this time. "No. Thank the Maker. I'm not sure I would have survived the Gallows. Such grim decorations!"

"We definitely wouldn't have survived you," he said. His fingers tightened over hers. "How could we have ever chained something so wild?"

"Others have managed it. Briefly," she said, winking. She turned her hand over and ran a finger over his palm. "I think I'd like to see you try. I'm sure your training left you with a lot of ideas."

He shivered, but the hard steel was still there. He removed his hand and gripped the edge of the table. "You're a beautiful woman, Hawke. But I prefer to be desired as myself, when I'm desired at all. I'm no longer a Templar," he said. His head tilted towards the door. "I came to find the Inquisitor, actually. I see I must have missed her."

She felt her face twist into something ugly that she couldn't hide. "Yes, she left before you arrived. Looking for her Warden, I believe," she added.

"Ah. Then I know where they are," he said. There was no jealousy in his voice, and she looked at him sharply when he braced to stand.

"It doesn't bother you? Your vaunted and revered leader dancing attendance on another man?"

She didn't need the flash in his eyes to know she was right. It had been obvious enough from the way his eyes followed the Inquisitor around the room, the quick way he responded to her words and actions, and especially the way his mouth formed her title, with the hint of desire that would have made any other woman's heart race. Anyone but Trevelyan.

Hawke's mouth twisted. She might have been Inquisitor. It could have been her, balancing love on a knife's edge and choosing which way it would fall.

Cullen regained control quickly and shrugged. "Does it bother Alistair?" he asked. "With you?"

"Alistair?" she asked incredulously. She glanced at the Warden to make sure he hadn't heard and scoffed when she saw his rapt attention on the dark-haired woman next to him. She pitched her voice lower. "We've traveled together for months. He's never so much as fluttered his eyes at me. I'm hardly anyone's vaunted and revered love, and certainly not his."

"He's a fool, then."

His tone was gentle again, too kind, and she wanted to scream. Men weren't supposed to be gentle with her. She shrugged. "No more than most Wardens. Or Templars," she said pointedly. "They both hold on to a past that's dead and buried."

Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden, dead in the Blight and buried under the bones of the archdemon she killed. She was the ghost that traveled with them, through the caves of Crestwood and the sands of the west. She was the specter that kept even the smallest ember of romance at bay, no matter how close they got. No matter how attractive Alistair looked when he smiled.

"Solona was difficult to forget," said Cullen, as though he'd heard her thoughts.

Hawke started, too surprised to be angry. "I forgot that you knew her."

"I did," he said. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but seemed to change his mind. He smiled crookedly. "I know she was your cousin, but she was nothing like you."

"Right. 'Solona was an angel, sent from the Maker himself. So delicate, so ethereal, perfection touching the world of Thedas,'" she said in a singsong voice. "I've heard more than enough about her."

That startled a laugh out of him. "That's not exactly how I would have put it."

"Whatever. She was the Hero. She saved the whole world. How could she not have been perfect?" Hawke took a long drink. "I'd say Kirkwall was unlucky enough to get the wrong Amell, but there's no way I could have stopped a Blight, so it would have been screwed either way."

"Hawke -"

She waved his words aside. "You don't have to say it. Her lover was the bravest man in Thedas, when he remembers to be. Mine was a coward who nearly got us all killed. Maybe still will, depending on how this shakes out," she said. "It's clear what branch of the family got the better of us."

She wiped a rogue tear away from her eyes. Cullen watched her quietly, eyes steady on her face, and she leaned forward with a shaky grin. "Sleep with me, Commander. We might all die tomorrow."

He reached out his hand, scarred and calloused and sure, and tucked a hair behind her ear. The move was so comforting, so new, that she almost wept in earnest. He said, "If this is to be your last night, don't spend it with me. I'm not the right man for the job." He paused, then smiled lightly. "And it's true, you couldn't have been the Hero. You're too alive to yield, even to an archdemon. I always admired that about you. I wish I knew how to be so present in my own life."

Cullen stood to leave. "If we do make it through the perils of a Skyhold night, I hope we can be friends in the morning. It's been some time since I enjoyed anything about my past. But talking with you is never dull," he said.

She nodded without a word, and he left. A laugh rose from the next table, a richly accented one that drilled straight through her heart. Cassandra. Alistair had likely made some joke at Hawke's expense, as part of his game. Her cheeks burned. She grabbed the non-empty bottles off the table and slapped some money down to cover it. She strode out of the bar like she wasn't running away, but she made sure she never looked back.

* * *

Twenty minutes and a lot of cursing later, she'd made it up a series of ladders that took her to the highest point in the fortress. It was bitter cold, but she sat with her back against the wall and poured warmth into the stone and alcohol into her belly. Both helped.

The sky was clear and twinkling, with little moon to speak of but thousands of stars. Hawke watched them sparkle and dip in her vision. She traced each constellation, every line, and laughed to herself that she was even attempting it. She'd learned their shapes from Anders, and even then she'd known from the smirk on his lips that he was teaching her half-truth and half-myth. But she'd let him all the same, because when the stars weren't there he'd traced them on her body, connecting point to point, and whispering the names into the darkness while she'd called out his.

It hadn't been love, she knew now. Varric was a pain, but he was right about the divinity of forgiveness. Had it been love, her knife would never have found his back, no matter the crime. She would have borne anything for him, even betrayal. But Justice had stolen their chances at love, even before he'd stolen Anders' humanity. He'd stolen the echoes of the man into the Fade and left her with nothing at all.

No, it hadn't been love. But it had been close enough to kill her.

Cullen had seen that deadness in her, she was sure, from his acceptance of her fatalistic demeanor. He knew as well as she did that this would almost certainly not be their last night. It was two weeks ride to Adamant, and she had a knack for survival that bordered on the supernatural even when there was obvious danger around. Nevertheless the world felt like an ending, draping over her like a shawl made of pure night. The Maker's shroud, finally fitted to her body. She had to admit it would be relief.

But the Wardens had to be sorted out first. The Maker-blighted lunatics. "Bloody Wardens," she said aloud.

"Present company excluded, I hope," said a voice from the ladder.

She twisted to the noise and wrinkled her nose at Alistair's familiar face. "Definitely included," she said. She smirked. "Fail to bring the horse into the barn with Cassandra?"

He hoisted himself onto the tower's roof and gave her a superior look. "Don't be silly. She was eating out of my hand," he said. "She invited me to see her sword collection and everything."

"She would have been disappointed with your addition to it."

He harrumphed as he settled next to her. "Hardly," he said. "Move over, I know the stones behind you are warmer."

She obliged. "So what happened?"

"The Seeker told me she'd set the lyrium in your blood on fire to teach you a lesson about rules. I decided that was a bed that needed no warming from me."

"Bitch," said Hawke, but it was more reflex than condemnation.

"She had a point, you know. If you set all of the alcohol on fire, what would I drink?" asked Alistair.

He leaned over her lap and grabbed the last bottle. His head tilted back as he swallowed, and she watched his throat work in the dimness. A flutter danced in her stomach when he opened his eyes and grinned at her, and she squashed it in horror. Curse Cullen and his ideas-planting.

He seemed to read her mind. "What chased your dreamy Templar away?" Alistair waggled his finger when she snorted. "Don't tell me you don't think he is. I heard you talking to Isabela about him when she brought us back to Ferelden."

_He knows a lost cause when he sees one,_ she almost said, but she shrugged instead. "Wasn't interested. Maybe he's still anti-mage."

"Then he's an even bigger prat now than he was back at the Chantry. And that takes a lot of work," he said. "Always so pious and lecturing us all about our duty to the Maker. The man was born to run a holy army." Alistair threw a pebble over the parapet. "Still, I never thought he'd be such an idiot that he'd turn down someone like you."

Hawke laughed. "He said the same thing about you, actually."

She expected him to crack a joke, but instead he shifted a little and settled into silence. They stayed that way for a while, breaths huffing into clouds that drifted out and over the whole world, for all she knew. _Take our breaths, Thedas. You've taken everything else._

"Were you thinking about Anders?" asked Alistair finally.

"Yes," she said. "He taught me to look at the stars and see patterns. I wish he'd taught me that about people." She closed her eyes. "I don't know how it's possible to still be so angry at someone who's dead."

"I wish I felt angry," he said. "I'm not as strong as you."

"At least Solona died for something worthwhile. At least she only left you because there was no choice."

"There's always a choice," he said bitterly, but Hawke knew he wouldn't explain further. He never did.

"Do you think non-Grey Wardens can hear the Calling?" she asked. Alistair turned sharply to look at her, and she raised her eyebrows. "What? I don't know how you get how you are. I had a lot of sex with Anders, you know. Maybe I caught it."

His eyes glittered in the dark. "Maker's breath, if sex could pass it on, I wouldn't have any fun left at all," he said. "I wouldn't dare. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. You'd know if you were hearing the Calling, Hawke."

When she waited patiently, he sighed. "It's like walking a dark road at night, and you know with each step that it will be the one that takes you over the chasm you don't see, into the pit without ending, and nothing will ever save you. And then you step, and it's road, and you do it all over again."

"Why don't you just stop walking?"

"Why don't you throw yourself off of the walls? Living is what we do."

"And the world needs us," she said sarcastically.

"That's what they say," he said. "To die at the right time. Solona died for the bloody world. She could have lived for me." He shrugged. "But it was ten years ago. I know that whatever memories I have of her aren't real, not anymore. She's a legend, and I'm just a man."

"You're a pretty good one, though," said Hawke, and she was rewarded with a smile. She smiled back. "Cute, too. For a bastard."

He ducked his head, but the smile persisted. His leg was pressed flush against hers, and she was very aware of each point of contact, where their hips joined, the pressure of his knee, the hard length of his thigh.

"Do I remind you of her?" she asked. It was something she'd always wondered, but never dared mention. Even now she wasn't sure if she wanted the answer to be yes or no. "Cullen said we were nothing alike."

"Another way he's an idiot, then," he said. "Only someone who couldn't see inside would say something so daft. You're entirely different, except for the things that matter. Your hearts. The feeling of you nearby." He took her hand. "You both make the world quieter."

Then he laughed, and the crushing tightness in her chest loosened to something bearable. "You're much more likely to punch something than she was, though. That's for sure."

"Some things need a good punching," she said absently. She moved her hand inside of his and felt him shiver, just a little. It terrified her. It excited her. She hardly knew what to do with her eyes. "There's another way we're different. If it came down to you or me, I'd definitely make sure it was me."

She smiled, inviting him into the joke, but he sat up and looked her full in the face. "Good," he said, and he kissed her with a swiftness that she couldn't defend against.

And it turned out she didn't want to, in the end. Her free hand went to his face, stroking the lines of his jaw while he tasted and teased her mouth. Maker but the man knew how to kiss. When he let go of her hand to pull her closer, rough and needy, she moaned without thought. She felt him smile, and she punched him even as she opened her mouth to admit him more fully. The fabric of his shirt was thin under her fingers, and she turned her punch into a caress of the deliciously hard muscles of his back.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of exploration, his own fingers found the waistband of her leggings. She gasped. He took his mouth away from hers and asked silent permission with his eyes. Hawke laughed, giddy and lost. "You never even peeked at me bathing," she said. "I thought you found me repulsive. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You don't gamble with the thing that keeps you walking," he said with terrifying gravity. He must have sensed her tension because he suddenly smiled, brilliant and beautiful. "Besides, who said I never peeked? I'm very sneaky."

"You idiot," she said affectionately. Her hand went back to his face, this time in comfort instead of desire, and he closed his eyes under her touch. She twisted under him and settled her back on the cold stone of the roof, which she immediately began to warm.

He opened his eyes in surprise. "What, here?"

"I don't have the patience to get back down those ladders. Do you?"

Surprise gave way quickly to heat, and she shivered despite the spell she was weaving. He drew himself over her and kissed her slowly, deeply, perfectly. "No. I've never been known for my patience."

One last thing. "I'm not Solona," she said quietly.

He kissed the hollow of her throat without pausing. "Exactly. You're Hawke. My Hawke. Always," he murmured against her skin. "I couldn't stand watching you with that idiot Templar, you know."

"Says another idiot Templar," she said. Her fingers tightened in his hair when he tried to jerk away indignantly. "Luckily I seem to be weak for them."

Then he did shake her off. "All of them?" he asked, with the smallest hint of doubt. He watched her face with an intensity that she still didn't know if she wanted.

But she did want him, now. "I thought so. Turns out it just the one," she said. She arched herself into him slightly. "Don't be gentle."

That was enough. He captured her again, and she captured him in turn. They entwined under the stars that held shapes both false and true, and even with the brandy and the cold, even with the fear that hammered her heart and the death that pressed around his mind, they found what it was to be at peace.

* * *

The trip to Adamant was both too short and too long. Too long because Alistair grew paler and emptier as they approached the fortress, and she was helpless in the face of his pain. Blackwall seemed to bear it better, perhaps because he'd never been near an Archdemon or a full Blight, but Alistair sat sweating and shivering in turns whenever they rested. "I'm dying," he whispered to her once when no one else could hear.

"You're not," she said fiercely. "You're alive. Here, with me."

"With you," he murmured.

Not caring who saw, she wrapped all of the power of her small frame around him, holding him together with the force of her considerable will. He wouldn't break while she still had strength in her arms. Eventually the shaking stopped as he threw off whatever power was flooding him. She breathed a little easier, but she didn't let go. She looked around, daring anyone to judge him for this.

The Inquisitor and Blackwall watched them solemnly, the former with worry and the latter with a touch of terror she didn't understand. Cassandra had no expression at all, but she brought them both a blanket with as much kindness as the woman ever showed around her. Varric smiled, but it was a smile of indulgence rather than mockery. And Cullen, large and imposing in his furs, raised his glass when she met his eye. _He was the right man for the job,_ he mouthed, and she smiled against her will.

It took too long in days, in the end, because she hated to watch him suffer. But it was too short in nights, in the times they said no words at all, only loved each other sweetly in the tent that they'd always shared so chastely. The nights were the only time the fear was gone for them both, pushed outside of the world they created together.

* * *

Bathed in the green glow of the Fade, with the Nightmare thrashing behind them, three heroes found each other exhausted and breaking under the weight of their own legends. They needed more time, in this place where time was a word without meaning.

When Alistair said to Hawke, a Grey Warden should pay for this, what she heard was, _You will not die for me_.

When Hawke said to Alistair, you're needed to lead them, what she felt was, _You are the only one who matters_.

When they turned to the Inquisitor and begged her to give the ending to themselves, what they meant was, _I love you too much to live alone again_.

Evelyn stood quietly, mark flashing between the screams of the demon. Her face was drawn and weary as she balanced love on the edge of a knife. And underneath the roiling, unreal sky, walking a world that mortals should never know, the Inquisitor chose.


	9. Alistair

Oghren never had good ideas.

They'd neared a village as night was falling, one that was lit up brightly enough to be seen for miles, and Oghren had immediately petitioned Solona to stop in the tavern. The dwarf would never win any awards for eloquence, but when it came to alcohol he certainly found a new motivation.

"C'mon," he said, "you can't expect me to keep looking at that black void up there without getting a good head on. It's cruelty to dwarfs."

To Alistair's surprise, the other Warden seemed to be considering it. He shook his head emphatically, not having to reach far to find reasons to oppose it. "Too risky. Loghain? Howe? Hungry darkspawn looking for villages to ransack? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Solona nodded reluctantly until Zevran touched her shoulder. "Nonsense. Saving the world is such a dreary business. Fun is a necessity, or you'll grow worry lines around those lovely eyes," he said. "Unless you wished the fun to be more private this evening? My tent, say? I am quite talented at alleviating stress."

She pushed the elf away with a faint smile. "The tavern would be fun for everyone at once."

"How little faith you have, my dear Warden. My tent is quite accommodating. As am I," he added, winking at Alistair.

Morrigan's dry tones fortunately interrupted the innuendos before the elf could fill in the blanks. "Loathe as I may be to agree with the uncultured mongrel in our midst," she began, pausing when the mabari whined behind them. "No, not you."

"Says the spooky witch lady no one likes," said Alistair, folding his arms.

"I like her," said Zevran. "Her style of dress is also accommodating to us all."

She ignored them both. "'Tis a bad idea. And pointless. You will all drink to excess, leading to morning embarrassment and a late start. Assuming no one attempts to kill us, which is by no means assured. We should camp well away and be off at first light."

Sten rumbled an annoyed agreement, and Alistair shifted a little when he realized the only people on his side were a murderous Qunari and a woman who threatened to turn him into a frog every time he opened his mouth. Leliana looked surprisingly enthusiastic for a Chantry lay sister, Oghren was practically sober with anticipation, and even Wynne seemed interested.

"I've never had a drink in a tavern," said Solona wistfully. "My friend Anders said they were bursting with light and laughter. He told us that you could buy songs for coppers and everyone danced and spun and smiled without fear."

She cut a guilty look at Wynne. "I know we weren't supposed to ask him about his time outside of the Circle."

"My dear, that was a Templar rule, and an unreasonable one at that," said Wynne. "I believe we are well-past such concerns now. The village seems to be having quite the celebration, and I see no harm in partaking in it." The older mage nodded slowly. "It may remind us what we fight for, rather than that which we fight against."

"Then it's settled," said Zevran, clapping his hands. "Those who are interested in fun can come to the tavern. Those who wish only despair and duty may camp just outside the village and wait for us. With the dog."

Sten and Morrigan rolled their eyes but said nothing as they fell into step behind Solona and Zevran. Alistair followed at the end, wondering which group he fell into. He wasn't against fun. He quite enjoyed it, really. And drinking and singing. The dancing he could do without, but he wouldn't object. The Wardens had certainly done all that and more at volumes that had seemed impossible at the time. No, he wasn't against fun.

Solona's dark hair caught under the moon and silvered as she turned to share a laughing joke with Leliana, and Alistair nearly groaned. Except with her. Maker's breath, he was bad enough sober. Drunk, or even approaching it, he would be a menace to them both.

He thought back to the single rose that lay carefully in his belongings, waiting. Waiting forever, at this rate. He'd managed to press and preserve it, but even that had its limits, and he was beginning to doubt it would last long enough for him to approach her.

Alistair frowned and mentally corrected himself. The approaching wasn't the issue. She talked to him often, and he to her. But somehow when it came to the part where he told her how beautiful she was, and how much hope she'd given to him, and how the end of the world was nothing if he could only love her with all his heart before it came, he never found the words. He found himself talking about her time in the Circle, or his time in Redcliffe, or even their companions. In one desperate moment he'd solemnly recited a half-remembered Grey Warden oath that he suspected wasn't even real. Zevran and Leliana weren't helping, smirking openly every time he found Solona by the fire.

But she never noticed how he fumbled and lost himself in their conversations. She smiled and spoke carefully and even laughed at his most ridiculous jokes. She had a distracting laugh, clear and unrestrained, and she covered her mouth with her palm to no avail whenever it poured out of her. He challenged himself to find its heights, coaxing it out of her until her eyes swam with tears. Once she'd laughed so hard she'd steadied herself by leaning on his arm, and the brand of her fingers followed him for the rest of the day and into the night. She could cast fire easily enough, but it was still a surprise to know that her heat could carry so far and so long.

Even now he felt its remnants, wondered what it would be like if there was no cloth in the way, nothing but her skin on his own, nothing but him burning for her under the stars.

He played the scene in his head for the thousandth time. He would pull Solona aside and take her in his arms. Manfully, of course. Her breath would catch in her throat as she realized his intentions, and she would sigh in happiness as he told her of his love in sparkling, witty words. Then they would kiss, a slow and wonderful experience that he certainly wouldn't mess up in any way. After that things got fuzzy, a yawning blackness that was full of half-understood actions and feelings, but he was confident it would take care of itself. The important part was the sigh, and the happiness, and the kiss.

Then he did groan, so low that no one could hear him. Zevran clearly wanted the same thing for them, and the elf was more experienced in well, seduction, than Alistair could ever be. Alistair could barely spell it, while Zevran expelled it with every breath. He watched them walking ahead of him in close conversation. Their arms were linked, the flirting already begun, and alcohol would only embolden the man. And leave Alistair a tangled mess of incoherent words.

That settled it. It was the camp of despair, duty and dog for him.

When they reached the point of branching, Solona extracted herself from the group and came back to him. Her hands twisted together in front of her, and he stopped himself from reaching out to still them. "Won't you come with us?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to say no, but she rushed on without pausing. "Please? It won't be that bad. I promise," she said. "If you don't like it, we'll all leave. But I'll feel safer with you there."

That shut him up. He looked over at the waiting group. Leliana was deadly, Wynne was tougher than any Chantry matron who'd scared the sin out of him, Zevran had probably killed more people than Alistair had ever met, and Oghren had absolutely no conscience. True Sten would have been a help, but even with all of the death she walked with Solona still needed him? He looked again at her hands, and back to her nervous face. She was clearly worried, clearly trusting in him, and that was as unfair a trick as she could play.

"That's odd. Most people feel safer when I'm miles away," he said, "but I suppose I can distract an enemy long enough to save you all. Perhaps they won't have heard the one about the princess, the dwarf and the golem yet. That one usually gets most people clutching their heads in pain."

He closed his eyes in exasperation - what was wrong with him - but to his relief she clapped her hands brightly. "It will be fun. You'll see," she said. He opened his eyes again just in time to see her lay her hand on the cool metal of his gauntlets. "We'll have to go in a little less armored, though."

* * *

A half an hour later, Alistair bellied up to a table and sipped on an ale that was better than it had any right to be. He got excellent service in taverns, and he'd never been quite sure why. The Wardens had claimed it was the Order's authority, and Zevran had already ventured a typical guess that it was the servers' way of relaxing a handsome man, but Alistair had always suspected it was exactly the opposite. He didn't run his eyes or hands across them, despite his obvious strength, so they felt easier than they did with the usual mercenaries and merchants who passed through. Whatever it was, he tipped his head to the woman behind the bar in a silent thanks as he drank, and she flashed a smile in his direction before turning away.

He turned as well. The whole room was watching Leliana battling toe-to-toe with the installed bard, trading songs and lines back and forth in a dizzying display of skill. The man had been annoyed at first, but after the patrons paid handsomely for more and Leliana insisted that she would only take a small tithe for the Chantry, he'd suddenly become very amenable. For a Chantry sister, she knew an alarming number of bawdy songs, and Alistair found himself torn between ignoring the words and trying to take notes.

He was so caught up in the dilemma that a giggle next to him had him jumping out of his skin. He turned with a pounding heart to see Solona perched on a nearby stool, grinning widely. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling, and he nearly lost his balance leaning away from the temptation.

"Seems like you're having fun," he said lamely, and she nodded vigorously.

"It's just like Anders said!" She looked around them, then took a long drink, punctuated by another giggle. "It's so free."

Alistair noticed how many men were casting speculative eyes in her direction and stepped a little closer. He rested his arm on the table, making sure his training showed beneath his short sleeves. The men here may not know a Warden, but they surely knew a fighter when they saw one.

Solona stopped laughing and stared as well. "You're very strong."

He stammered a thank you, but she didn't hear it. "Are you having fun?"

"Ah, yes," he said. He took a drink of his own to cover his nerves. "Leliana is doing very well."

"She is, isn't she," said Solona. She sighed heavily. "Maker, she's talented. And so pretty. It's not nice of her to be so pretty, I don't think. Not fair. We weren't allowed to be pretty, in the Circle. Though she probably would have been anyway, don't you think?"

Her eyes were a little unfocused as she waited for an answer, and he wondered if she'd ever drank before. He was trying to come up with a tactful way to get her glass away from her when she poked him in the chest. "Don't you think Leliana is pretty?"

"I suppose if I had to be shot through the throat, hers would be a pleasant last face to see behind the bow," he said absently. Maybe he could finish his drink quickly and then claim he needed hers. Yes, that was a solid plan. He set about his task with a new purpose, but stopped when Solona twisted around unsteadily.

He hovered his hands over her shoulders, ready to catch her if she fell, but she only stared across the room. Alistair followed her gaze to the place where Zevran, Oghren and Wynne sat arguing about something. Likely about who Wynne would sleep with that evening, which was most certainly no one. Zevran looked over as though he felt their gaze and waved his hand in a clear but confusing gesture of encouragement.

Solona turned back quickly and stared at Allistair's still-waiting hands in bemusement. "Were you going to push me off the stool?"

He lowered them quickly and reached for his mug once more. "No! Of course not."

"Good," she said with a ludicrously stern expression. "That wouldn't be nice of you. And you're very nice. You should stay nice."

"I'll try." He hesitated. "Do you think you've had enough for now?"

"I'm not done," she said, shaking her head. She finished the glass and looked up at him. "I have to ask you a question."

Alistair's stomach fluttered in panic, but he tried to mask it with a bow. "I'm at your service."

A woman came between them suddenly to refill his glass and press a new one into his companion's hand, tipping him a smile as she went. Solona's eyes followed her unerringly. "That woman likes you," she said accusingly. "She _smiled_."

"I don't think she does. Maybe she's just happy."

"No," said Solona, slamming her glass on the table and nearly missing. "She wants to kiss you. Are you going to do it?"

" _That_ was your question?"

"I can have more than one."

Alistair ran a hand over his eyes as his cheeks flamed. "Maker's breath. No, I'm not going to kiss her. Even if she asked, which she won't, I don't make a habit of that… sort of thing." Not with strange women, anyway. The lightly pink lips of the woman staring up at him were a completely different story, and when she caught the lower one in her teeth he couldn't stop a hiss from escaping.

"You don't kiss?"

"I, ah, I haven't had much opportunity to well, I mean, growing up in the Chantry… and my bunkmate with the Wardens had a beard as long as Oghren's, without the careful grooming, so…" he said, trying and failing to stop the rush of words. Just as he'd feared, his ill-advised chugging had loosened his tongue into the insensibility that always lurked. But more ale would surely help, wouldn't it? Yes. More drinking was advised.

Solona gave him a puzzled stare. "So you like men?"

He choked and sputtered. "No. No, that's not what I meant. It's women. Definitely women." He tried to sound very firm under her curious stare.

"Anders liked both. It's okay."

"I know it's okay," he said. "But I don't. Just women. Women are soft."

He touched her hand briefly to reassure himself of that and caught his breath when she smiled. His hand flew back as if of its own accord, and he tried to find the thread again. "Not much opportunity for kissing them, that's all."

Once in Redcliffe, a fumbling strangeness with a girl whose father was delivering horses. She'd pressed him against a wall and herself against him, but he'd been too petrified to do anything but submit. And a few more, later, girls who liked kissing Chantry boys or really anyone in the vicinity, but he always seemed to have too many hands and too few thoughts whenever it happened. They'd certainly never done it more than once.

Alistair tried to laugh. "I don't think I'm very good at it."

"You're good at fighting with swords," said Solona. Her green eyes unfocused as she thought back to some fight or another. "So many enemies, but you block them all even when it hurts you. I'm sorry I take you every time we go anywhere. I just don't know who else to trust. I know it's dangerous for you. Please don't get hurt, Alistair. I don't want to be alone."

A tear tracked down her face and his panic returned from an entirely different direction. "Hey. I'm fine. Take me with you as much as you want. Don't worry. My head's empty of brains, which saves the pain of the blows. I'm not going to get hurt," he said. He tried to make his voice reassuring around the slight slurring. "I wouldn't leave you."

She sniffled hugely and glared up at him. "You're not stupid."

"If I could get that in writing, I'd appreciate it," he said. "No one will believe anyone said it, otherwise."

To his relief, the tears seemed to pass away as quickly as they'd come. She giggled again, then focused intently on his face. "Kissing is like fighting, but with lips. So you have to be good at it," she said, almost to herself.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and his nerves jangled a warning. Before he could even form the fearful question, Solona hopped off of the stool and raised on her toes to touch her lips to his own. Alistair's mind took that opportunity to empty itself of all thought and escape from his body like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.

Drowning had never felt so pleasant.

He closed his eyes and floated. All that existed was the feeling of her lips on his, and oh Maker her hand winding around his head to pull him closer and explore him. He seemed to be a long way away from himself, a stranger in his body. A happy and purring stranger with none of the manful qualities he'd been hoping to display.

When she tightened her grip in his hair and swayed forward once more, his mouth parted in a gasp. She swept her tongue into the opening, as smooth as a blade past an enemy's defense, and he wondered if he might die from the sensation. The hot jolt of her tongue against his, ebbing and flowing in a gentle rhythm, was almost more than he could take. A groan built in his chest but never released as his body tried desperately to hold on to the experience with his mind roiling above him.

Solona was kissing him. Her mouth was soft and hard in turns, she tasted of brown ale and smelled like the woods in autumn, and her strong, small hands were gripping him with delirious, needful strength.

_Memorize this_ , a voice whispered inside of him. This was surely a dream, but he had to remember it. It would make him brave when he found himself awake once more.

Then she was gone so suddenly he almost stumbled, and his eyes flew open while his mind snapped back in place. Her eyes were still the bright green of an emerald, her hair mussed and wild around her rounded face, and everything lovely was her. She was real. And she was frowning, which planted an ache deep in his heart.

Alistair felt an ache across his body to match, and he realized he was as tight as a drawn bow. His hands were clenched at his side, his back and shoulders tensed as if to fight, and his breath came quick and labored, as though he'd just fought a horde of darkspawn. Which he probably would have been better at than what they'd actually done. The memory ran back through his mind, of how sure and deft she'd been, and how stupid and frozen he'd felt.

He opened his mouth to speak but a croaking rattle was all that came out. He grabbed a glass at random, probably hers for how poorly this was all going. "I'm sorry," he said after a long swallow. "I'm just… I'm not…" _I'm not any good at this, but all I want is for you to do that again._

"It's okay," she said softly, and hope rose in his heart. Solona was kind and generous. She wouldn't judge him too harshly.

The hope dashed against the inevitable rocks as she stepped away and turned back to the table across the room like a flower to the sun. They were all watching the pair intently - even Leliana had an eye on them both as she sang - and Alistair had never felt more an idiot in his life when Solona walked away. He didn't even try to stop her, just flopped into her vacant chair, flanked by both of their drinks.

She wove her way through the room to the other table, and he watched numbly as she settled next to Zevran and leaned into him. The Antivan assassin put his arm around her and rubbed a wiry hand over her arm, exactly the way Alistair had always imagined he would get to do, as soon as he impressed her with whatever speech he could dream up. But whatever this had been, a test or a dare or even a drunken impulse, he'd clearly screwed it up. And she didn't seem inclined to give him another chance.

He let melancholy wash over him with the music as he stared at the floor. The drink numbed him further, and only when he realized that the sounds of song had given way to the chattering and revelry of the tavern's patrons did he look up. Leliana was standing in front of him with an exasperated look on her face, but his attention lived in that hateful place where Solona was curled up like a cat as Zevran stroked her.

His eyes narrowed at Oghren, who was grinning lecherously at anyone within eyeshot. No, the dwarf never had good ideas, and this certainly wasn't fun.

Alistair rose and glared at the treacherously unsteady ground. It tilted and heaved annoyingly, and he would give it a piece of his mind as soon as he paid for his drinks. He lurched past the still-stoic archer, who seemed to be gearing up for some kind of lecture, but he growled to keep her at bay. Miraculously, it worked.

The nice woman at the bar gave him a surprised look when he dropped coin on the polished wood. "Your Antivan friend took care of the tab," she said in a heavy Marcher accent.

Alistair squeezed his fist. "No. He didn't. Myself is the only friend who takes care of myself," he said. He ran that back over in his mind and frowned.

"As you say, messere," said the woman, and Alistair nodded fiercely. Yes. As he said.

He regretted the nodding immediately as he whirled around to the door. To get to it he had to pass the cat-petting zone, but sometimes in battle sacrifices had to be made. He stumbled once against a nearby woman and apologized a little before he made it to his destination.

"I'm leaving," he announced, steadfastly remaining upright. If he leaned against the table, Zevran would win even more. Somehow.

Solona looked up at him from what was practically Zevran's lap, and Alistair saw more tears in her eyes. "Okay," she said, again softly, and his heart squeezed a little at the sadness in it. He'd ruined her night with his ineptitude. He might be able to keep her safe, but he was worthless at making the safety bearable. Antiva was probably better at that sort of thing.

_Come with me_ , he almost said, but before he could get the words out Solona looked past him. "Go with him, Leliana," she said. Her tones were those of command, the leader he'd made her, and he winced.

"I don't need protecting," he said.

"Clearly," said Leliana at his ear, dangling a coin purse in front of his eyes. His purse.

He patted his waist in confusion and heard her soft laugh. "Did you steal that from me? Don't steal things from me," he said, twisting to glare at her.

"No. That woman did. Not that you noticed a thing. I will get him back to camp in one piece and unmolested," she added to Solona.

The mage nodded her thanks, but Zevran only laughed. "The exact opposite of the promise I would make were I to accompany our lovely royal bastard," he said. He raised his eyebrows. "So perhaps you would prefer a different companion?"

Though the elf clearly meant himself, Alistair flicked his eyes to Solona, just once. She was looking away again, and she wouldn't want to come with him anyway. "No," he said. "Leliana is fine."

* * *

They worked their way back to the camp in silence. Well, mostly silence. Leliana kept trying to say things, and he kept trying to elbow her and missing. But each attempt led to another half-fall, and to his satisfaction she soon lost whatever breath she had for hectoring in keeping him upright.

The mabari sensed them coming and ran up to guide them to the waiting tents. To Alistair's vague surprise, they were all set up and ready, and Sten shrugged when he glanced at him.

Morrigan was more vocal. "Are you drunk?" she asked from her place on the ground. There were two of her, which was two more than he liked.

Alistair focused her back into one piece. "No. I'm just fully entertained."

"I see," she said. She waved her hand vaguely to her left. "Your tent and personal items lay that way. I did not wish to hear you all stumble about in confusion as you erected them while I attempted to sleep."

"Thanks," he said with an unwise amount of sarcasm. An idea struck him. "Where's Solona's?"

Morrigan, Sten and Leliana all stared.

"Behind me," said Morrigan. "Is it important?"

He made for the tent she'd indicated with as much speed as he could bring to bear. He felt Leliana's hands graze his arm and miss, but her voice followed him more easily. "What in the name of the Maker do you think you're doing?"

"If I sleep in there then when she comes back she won't be able to sleep with Zevran, because I'm there," he said triumphantly as he reached the flaps. He frowned. "But he has a tent, too. Leliana, you have to sleep in his tent."

"Zevran?" asked Morrigan incredulously, but Leliana overruled her.

"I am not sleeping in Zevran's tent!" she said. "He is quite too eager for such a thing. And you are not sleeping in Solona's! You'll scare her to death."

Alistair spun to glare at her. "I make her safe," he said. "She won't be scared of me."

No one answered him. "Please sleep in his tent, Leliana," he continued. "Please please please?"

He tried to summon up the look that had always gotten the Redcliffe baker to throw him an extra pastry, but based on the startled faces that stared back at him, it wasn't charming. Okay. Try for sad. "I want her to kiss me again," he said in a voice that was less his intended whisper and more a carrying shout.

"The mage kissed you?" asked Sten in a voice slightly more inflected than his usual monotone. When Leliana nodded affirmation he grunted and tossed a coin neatly to Morrigan. "Foolish of her."

"Foolishness is inevitable," said Morrigan. "Alcohol only speeds it along."

"The Qun leaves no room for such things."

Leliana, diverted, smiled wickedly. "And where do cookies fall under the Qun?"

Alistair took advantage of her distraction and slipped into the waiting tent. Maker, it smelled like Solona, even though she hadn't been there yet. What always made her scent so autumn-y? Maybe a soap? Or just her magic? He snuggled down into the waiting bedroll and tried to puzzle it out as Leliana badgered him from above. He barely heard her as he drifted away. When she got here, he would ask her. And he would keep her safe from Zevran. And everything would be okay.

* * *

The dawn broke across his forehead and left a splitting headache in its wake. Alistair rolled over and blinked at his surroundings. Traveling sacks. They were camping. Had he put the tent up? His things weren't in the usual place. Someone must have helped him, he supposed. His memories of the end of the night were fuzzed and patchy.

But not the middle part. The burning embarrassment of his own romantic failures greeted him with a pain that almost rivaled that of his aching head. He reached out and rummaged around in the bag next to him, hoping there was a stream nearby to dunk his head into. Not to mention wash and change. His clothes smelled like the garbage pile behind a brewery.

When he pulled out a pair of smallclothes that were certainly not his size, he sat up and winced, then yelped and winced again. He dropped the garments quickly and peered into another bag, praying to every god he'd ever heard mention of that he wouldn't see his greatest fear.

Of course he did.

Solona's familiar mage robes peeked out at him, along with the books she'd collected along their way. Maker's breath, he was in her tent. But she wasn't, which was good. Or bad? Surely his memory wasn't as fuzzy as all that. Maker save him if they'd done anything he didn't remember. And not only because that was the sort of thing he really, really wanted to remember.

Alistair scrambled out of the tent as quickly as possible, and to his relief no one else had stirred, or if they had they weren't in the circle of their tents. The dog was snoring lightly across the way, and someone had dropped a pile of blankets next to the banked fire, but other than that there were no signs of life.

He nearly yelped again when the blankets shifted to reveal a head of glossy black hair. "Alistair?" said Solona. Her face was sleepy and confused and adorable as she blinked up at him with those still-piercing eyes.

He felt an overwhelming urge to slip under the blankets and pet her back into her much-needed sleep. His lurching stomach, his incompetence, and the crystal-bright memory of Zevran's hand running over her arm kept him still. "Go back to sleep," he whispered.

Instead of obeying, she struggled to sit up. He sighed. What made him so easy to ignore? "Why are you out here?" he added in a slightly more normal volume. He regretted it. His voice sounded graveled and hard-used, like he'd been screaming.

"You were in my tent," she said, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Strands of hair stuck up crazily behind her head, and before he could stop himself he was kneeling beside her to smooth it down.

The kneeling only brought on more nausea, but it was worth it to see her eyes widen in lovely surprise. He cleared his throat and dropped his hand. "You should have used mine."

She blushed and looked away. "That didn't seem right. I don't want to invade your privacy."

"I hardly think I would have had the high ground to complain," he said, thinking back to those terrifying smallclothes. He tried to shake the memory off for both of their sakes. "You must have frozen out here."

Solona shrugged and cocked her head at him. "Why were you in my tent?" she asked. "Did you get confused?"

Tempting to lie and say yes, but that would violate her trust. Even more tempting to tell the truth and pray for her pity, but he was sure his breath smelled worse than his clothing, and he was no romantic ideal at the best of times. He settled for shrugging in return. At least she'd slept out here instead of with Zevran.

Oh Maker. "Did Zevran sleep in his tent?"

She stared at him like he'd hit his head. "Of course."

He heard her as though from a great distance, his mind spinning in horror. Had he really made that request of Leliana? Worse, had she eventually done it? Surely not. She'd seemed very decided against the whole thing, if his memory served correctly. A low, accented giggle followed by a gentle stream of Antivan from the direction of the elf's accommodations confirmed that his memory was anything but reliable.

Solona's head whipped around to follow the sound. "Leliana? And Zevran?" She shook her head as if to clear it. "But that makes no sense."

Alistair opened his mouth, to say what he had no idea, but he closed it when she sighed heavily. "Well, it seems he had no problem dealing with a filled bedroll."

It was like a punch in the gut. He'd done this to her, again. First he couldn't kiss her properly, now he'd sent the real object of her affections straight into the arms of another woman. The only comfort was that it truly hadn't been his plan, but plans and results weren't at all the same thing. And the results of this were her downcast face and more of those threatening tears.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly and left before he made things even worse.

* * *

There was a nearby stream, and the change of clothes he'd grabbed were fresh and tempting. Still, he spent some time washing off, hoping to give Solona time to get back to her tent and fall asleep. There was nothing he could do for her now, but Wynne would be a comfort when the camp finally woke up in earnest. At least if she were sleeping, he wouldn't bother her.

"Why did you say you were sorry?"

He yelled and spun into a defensive stance, startling a barrier out of the slight mage behind him. His hands hit it with jarring force, and he swore. "Andraste's knickers, you scared the piss out of me!" he said as he tried to slow his racing heart. Fortunately it wasn't literal, but it had been a near thing.

She looked apologetic but said nothing, only watched him with her hands folded delicately in front of her. He tried to remember what she'd said and frowned. "Sorry about what?"

"About Leliana and Zevran. Why were you sorry?"

He blushed. "Well, I mean, Zevran, and you… and I didn't think he would actually join her… I just wanted to stop things from happening…" He trailed off uncertainly.

Solona's eyes narrowed, obviously drawing some meaning out of his incoherency. "You think I'm interested in Zevran?"

"I mean, I understand. Sort of. He's dangerous and a good, uh, talker, and that's a thing that I guess women like. Or so I've heard. The Wardens said. Told me to get a scar to fool you all into thinking I'm dangerous, but I'm too much of a coward for pain, which rather proved why I needed it."

A wind scattered the leaves around him and made him intimately aware of how much shirt he wasn't wearing. He reached out blindly for the clothing hung on the branch behind him, stopping when Solona held up her hand.

He felt very exposed as her eyes flicked once to his torso. He was wearing breeches, but under her gaze he didn't feel much like he was wearing anything at all. She met his eyes again and bit her lip. "I never asked you my question last night."

His mind ranged back. "You asked me questions."

"Not the one I was supposed to," she said, shaking her head. She stepped closer to him and his breath grew shallow when she touched his hand. "My question was, how do I know if a man is interested in me?"

"He's alive and he has eyes," said Alistair without thinking, then flushed to the very roots of his hair as she laughed quietly. "I'm sorry. That was… I don't know what that was. But really, you'll know. And most men will be, I think. You're very pretty and brave and clever and all of that."

Perhaps the earth would open up and swallow him whole sometime soon.

She stepped even closer. "The Circle wasn't a good place to learn how to tell these things," she said, looking up at him. "Lots of playing but nothing real. There was a Templar there, and I think he was truly interested. But that was the only time I ever suspected anyone even might be, and Anders said Cullen was hopelessly smitten. What if it's more subtle? How can I be sure?"

There was a hint of hope in her eyes that brought him closer to sensibility. "You'll have to wait for another hopelessly smitten man to find you, I guess."

"I thought I had. Then I tried to kiss him. I don't think he liked it very much."

Her voice was a soft whisper over his skin now, a breath that carried her words and his own desire.

He finally raised his hand to touch her cheek. "Oh, he liked it. He hasn't thought of anything else since."

"But he hasn't kissed me back, yet," she said, leaning into his touch. Her own hands slipped around his bare waist and stroked his skin lightly. "He didn't touch me. He didn't come after me. And I really wanted him to. It was very difficult to sleep outside last night, when he was where I would usually be."

Alistair shuddered and stared down at her parted lips. "Solona," he said. That was the only word he seemed to know, so he stopped and said it again in a desperate whisper. "Solona."

"Yes, Alistair?" she asked innocently. He growled at her and tried to find his wits, and she laughed. "Do you really think I'm pretty _and_ brave _and_ clever?"

"You're everything," he said in a low voice that seemed to tremble through her. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and it was too much. He leaned down to meet her, taste her again sober and clear-headed, except his head could never be clear when it was so full of her. Solona coursing through his mind, beating alongside his heart, slipping underneath his hands.

After a long few minutes he broke away breathlessly. "Was that enough to be sure?"

Her eyes were still closed, and she sighed happily. "Yes," she said. Her eyes flew open and a considering look crossed her face. "No. I don't know if I can ever be really, really sure. I might need more proof."

"I'll keep trying," he said, laughing, and she stood on her toes to find his mouth once more. Her fingers rubbed soothing lines across his bare back, and he suddenly remembered that they were standing outside, by a stream, for the whole world to see.

She seemed to realize the same thing as he pulled away. "Do you think we can make it back before anyone wakes up?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"I'll make sure of it," he said. He took his clothing with one hand and one of hers in the other. The rose was waiting for her, and he had a hunch he could come up with the right speech now. Even if it was murmured against her lips. "I have something to show you in my tent."

A shocked giggle flew out of her mouth, beautiful and free. "Alistair!"

He stared at her in horror. "No! That's not… that's not what I meant. Oh Maker, I promise I'm not a sex fiend." That's what the Chantry sisters had called anyone with a pulse and a healthy interest in the opposite sex, but in this case it might have been deserved.

"Oh," she said. She frowned slightly. "That's a shame."

As she tugged him back towards the camp, he swallowed hard. Was there a way to bring up the fact that he enjoyed not being a sex fiend without sounding like an absolute prude? But right before they fell back into the sightline of the ringed tents, she pulled up short and kissed him sweetly. "Right now I just want to start with kissing, though," she said quietly as soon as she was done. "Is that okay? I've been thinking about it for so long…"

He nodded, relieved, and she smiled her brilliant, calming smile. "And you're sure you're not interested in Leliana?" she added unexpectedly. "I don't want you to have to settle for second best."

"Impossible for you to be second to anyone," he said firmly, hiding his confusion. Leliana? Maker preserve him, he would never survive her. "Plus I've wanted to kiss you since I first saw you laughing at Ostagar. I've never once wanted to kiss Leliana."

"I heard that," came the Orlesian's voice from behind a tree. "Thank you ever so much."

"Ah, _cara_ ," said a golden Antivan voice. "Has the spare royal wounded you? Please, allow me to be the soothing balm that eases that discomfort. I quite insist on it."

A derisive snort that wasn't quite as dissuading as it could have been echoed around them, followed by the unmistakably pleasurable sounds of a thorough kiss. Alistair blanched and looked at Solona. "So much for sneaking in unnoticed," she said ruefully. "But they're not in much of a position to cast stones. Lovebirds, the both of them."

She grinned wickedly as Leliana made a noise of protest, then tugged on his hand again. "Besides, I still want to see what you have for me in your tent."

They sprinted across the clearing together, her laughing and him bright red. Zevran called after them, begging for his own audience and waking the rest of the grumpy camp. Alistair tried to make himself as small as possible.

When they ducked under the flap to his tent and fell into a breathless, giddy heap, it was quite some time before he managed to extract the flower he carried for her, and he never did find the words he'd been planning. Still, that was okay. It turned out his best speeches were always the ones he never made.


	10. Cole

"You have to actually drink the stuff, kid, to feel the effects," said Varric.

Cole looked into the glass in his hands. "It's murky," he said. "Water with extras."

The dwarf sighed. "Yes. We talked about this. It's an ale. People drink it instead of water when they want to enjoy themselves."

"Is the enjoyment at the bottom of the cup?"

He tilted the glass sideways experimentally, but Varric grabbed his arm. "No," he said. "More inside it. In the ale. Just drink it. You said you wanted to understand people more. And this is about as universal as it gets, behavior-wise. I bet even the Red Templars kick back a few after a long day of being lyrium-possessed lunatics. Of course, their glasses are probably full of demon ichor, but it's the same idea."

"The ale is the same as a demon?"

"No, the relaxation is the same. This is relaxing. Usually," Varric added under his breath, drinking from his own mug.

Cole took a sip and tried to find the enjoyment hidden inside. "It tastes sad," he said. "A child with no home. Is this why Sera likes it?"

"Here's a tip. Comparing your alcohol to a homeless kid kind of takes the fun out of drinking for your companions," said Varric. He gestured to the table where the Chargers sat, half-carousing and half-fighting. "See them? They're using the drinking to grease the evening. Lighten the mood and feel good. That's what it's for. Social lubricant."

"Bull worries what the Tamassran would say of his failure to be what he is meant. He is a butterfly in the wrong direction, crawling out of what's right and into what's safe," said Cole. He focused on the laughing group. This was harder now that he was less spirit than man, and he wondered if he, too, was a backwards butterfly. "Krem keeps a letter from his mother in his pouch. It's a poison letter, full of anger, a negation of daughterness, and that is what he needs."

Cole turned back to Varric. "They don't feel good."

Varric nodded acknowledgment. "But do they feel alive?"

"Yes," said Cole slowly. "Another day without disappearing."

"So there you go."

What Cole didn't say, because he had no words for what it was, was that the liquid in the glasses wasn't what made them alive. It was the others, the knowledge of the knees around the table, that gave them light. He studied their lines, trying to find the thing that made them so bright around their darkness.

Without warning, he punched Varric in the arm.

"Hey!" said the dwarf, glaring at him. "What was that?"

"It's what they do with Bull to be closer," said Cole. "He's theirs, here with the ale. It keeps them shining."

Varric relaxed and rubbed his bicep. "Well, he's a bit sturdier in the musculature," he said. "I just fire a crossbow. How about we stick to words?"

"Okay. I'm glad you're here with me drinking murky enjoyment and shining."

"I'm glad, too, kid," said Varric. He smiled a little. "I think we need all the friends we can get."

* * *

Cole stayed in the tavern for the night, on the first floor instead of in the rafters, and he drank several mugs of the brown liquid with Varric. The Inquisitor came in for a time, and Blackwall and Cullen and even Cassandra. The Chargers drifted around the room singing, and when they stood by Cole they included him in the merriment until his face grew sore from the smiling. His face was unused to the expression, but the grin rose to his lips without asking permission.

Nearer to the end of the night he felt a silvery thought sliding through the room, like fish in a river under sunlight. No one else seemed to feel it, because he was still different even when he was merry. He tried to ignore it. If he was going to learn about living, he needed to pretend to be the same.

But the thought grew faster and flashier the longer he kept his mind away from it, and eventually it was circling too quickly to be forgotten.

Cole tilted his head at the idea. Like him, it was no longer allowed to fade away. Maybe that was why it was so loud.

He stood from the table abruptly and grabbed two full glasses of ale. He'd given the money he'd gotten as Inquisition pay to Varric; the dwarf had laughed at the pile of gold and said he'd make sure it was used well. The way he said it had been a joke, and the rest of the room had laughed, but it hadn't been the kind of laugh that was a door in the face. It was the other sort, the laugh that had space inside of it for him.

He liked that laugh. And it meant he could take more ale and leave, which he did.

Then it was up the stairs, following the silver thread winding its way through the watery air, until there was a real door in his face. He frowned at the knob, mind a little fuzzy as he considered how a man with two full hands and shod feet worked it, when the door opened of its own accord.

"Finally," said Sera. Her eyes narrowed. "Oh. Go away."

But once a door was open, Cole knew it was easy to keep it cracked, and he put his body in the way when she tried to slam it. It hurt, but that was okay. "I brought you ale," he said. "It greases the world."

Sera's face didn't soften, but she did grab the mug from his hand. Her hair was even shaggier than usual, her eyes more wild, and she stalked away from him to sit on her window bench.

Cole watched her as she gulped a drink. "How did you know I was there? Can you see me through doors?"

Maybe now that he was real he was even more visible than everyone else. The thought was a little alarming.

She snorted. "Don't be stupid. No one can see through doors. I heard the boards creak, thought it would be the Almighty Glowing Lady. Not you." She glared at him. "Wouldn't have opened the door for _you_."

"Oh," he said. He looked at the little table full of too many things to fit. A plate of cookies sat on top of a stack of books, a little precariously, but with a care that the rest of the room didn't show. He reached towards them slowly.

"Don't!" yelped Sera, half-rising and grabbing for her bow. "Don't touch things that aren't yours, yeah?"

"They feel happy," he said. He looked at the mug he still held. "They feel like what they say this is."

"Cookies don't feel like anything. They're food. And they're still not yours."

"Okay."

They were silent, Cole looking around the room with interest while Sera glared at him. Eventually she said, "You want something or what?"

"I brought you a drink. Now we can sit around the table and laugh," he said. "It's how we become lighter. Friends."

"I have plenty of friends," she said. "And if I wanted another, I would just find one. I don't need some gross demon thing with a dumb hat."

He frowned at himself. "I'm a person now. But I can take off the hat," he said reluctantly. He reached up and swept it off, ruffling his straw-colored hair. "You asked me to come."

Now it was her turn to frown. "Didn't. I would remember something that daft," she said. Her eyes widened. "Were you reading my brain again? I told you not to do that."

"Your mind came to me," he protested. "We need all the friends we can get, Varric says."

She glowered at him. "No. Go away."

Cole sighed and moved back to the door, then turned when she spoke again. "Leave the other drink. It probably doesn't have too much Fade gunk on it."

He smiled at the nascent light in her words and set his mug on the floor before he left.

* * *

A week later, the Inquisitor left for Val Royeaux with Vivienne, Josephine, and Varric. Cole went to see Sera again. This time he brought a drink and two pastry rolls and found the door open. He wandered into her room and stopped when it was empty. He turned in a slow circle, sensing her mind but not seeing her face.

He sniffed. The air smelled like chocolate, and the air was coming from the window.

Cole stepped up to the pane and looked through. Sera sat curled on the eaves of the tavern, watching the gate and chewing. The building cut the sun in half, and the shadow slid across her in a way that made her seem smaller. Sadder. He studied her, trying to see with his eyes what his mind couldn't feel. The divide of the afternoon split her into two halves that didn't fit back cleanly.

He stepped through the window, and even though she was somehow less than Sera, her eyes were still a purposeful fire when she whirled on him. "Think you own the place, do you?"

"It was open," he said, pausing uncertainly. "I brought you things to help. Because our friends are gone."

Sera looked away. "Yeah. When one goes to Orlais, one does like to present oneself to advantage," she said in a mimicry of Vivienne's crushed velvet voice. "Ambassador Montilyet is quite adored in court, my dear."

She sighed and fell back into her own cadence. "Leave the trash behind." She glanced back at Cole. "Guess that's us."

He handed her the mug as he tilted his head to the side. "You aren't trash."

His mind fell into the place of words that was harder to reach now for all it was full to bursting. "She likes your hair the most, wild and unpredictable. She wants to touch it, to run fingers through the strands and be surprised with every ending and beginning. The Inquisitor must be smooth and steady, but your hair is freedom."

"Sure could have fooled me," muttered Sera. She bit savagely into another cookie from a nearby plate. Her words were nearly lost around the new mouthful. "Barely even looks at me most of the time."

"The sun is beautiful, blazing, burning. At its height, it hurts to look. It has to be closer," said Cole.

He hesitated, trying to come up with the place that said without revealing, the way that was useful but polite. The Inquisitor and Varric had been very clear that he couldn't go too far with his help anymore. He remembered Ellana's grave eyes, collected and calm as she always had to be, when she told him about the knives that a tongue could wield. Dorian had been across the campfire, and Cole had heard again the shouting voice that claimed the mage was no son of his.

At last he spoke again. "Ellana is Dalish."

Sera sighed. "And I'm not," she said. "Yeah, I get it." She stood and shook herself. "I'm gonna shoot something."

Before Cole could stop her, tell her that wasn't the point, she stepped to the edge of the roof and dropped off, her bow slung over her back. He half-rose in panic, then gaped as her head slowly reappeared wearing a smirk. "Have a cookie, demon thing," she added, then vanished once more.

He sat, puzzled, wondering if she really was the floating sun. At last he scooted to the edge himself and looked over the side. He laughed, a high and clear sound that had passing heads craning up to look for the noise. A stack of crates sat against the inn, piling up in a staircase that led directly to them. After he put the plate in the room and closed the window behind him, he followed the same path out, a happy dessert resting in his pocket.

* * *

"Can you still do that invisibility trick?" asked Sera one day. They'd talked more since the day on the roof, small conversations that went longer with each pass. Today was the first time she'd looked for him, so they were talking in the belly of Skyhold, at a place near the kitchens where he could always find a cat. This one was the striped ginger that only liked to be petted on the very top of his head, and Cole patiently worked his fingers against the spot to feel the purr.

He looked up at the question in surprise, just in time to see Sera shiver against the wall. A wisp of emotions floated over to where he knelt. "Do you feel smaller down here?"

Cole was proud of himself for asking the question instead of saying what he knew, a politeness he'd learned without having to be told, but her frown told him he still hadn't found the right way to ask. "I don't like that," she said. "Steal someone else's thoughts."

She never believed him when he said the thoughts were given, so he said nothing. If he stayed quiet, she sometimes forgot to be mad. "The big people always take the tops of things for themselves," she said eventually, shrugging. "When you're underground, it's because you don't matter." The corners of her mouth quirked up. "Varric would say the same thing."

"Elves like to be outside," said Cole. Another cat joined the first, and he reached out to rub her belly.

The irritation returned. "I'm not an elf, though? The ground is a stupid thing to sleep on."

"Ellana has a nice bed."

Sera laughed, a bubbling wave that doubled her over. "Been sneaking off for afternoon fun with Inky, have you?"

Cole frowned. "Josephine told me," he said. Ellana liked beds that were soft and nice, and the ambassador liked the Ellana to be happy. She'd been very proud of her surprise for their leader.

Like a seesaw, the mood shifted back to sour. "Right," said Sera. "Answer my question."

"I'm a person. People aren't invisible."

She didn't say he was a demon, which was good. But she was disappointed with his answer, which was bad. "But you're still sneaky?"

He nodded. "Leliana always sees me. I don't fix her tea. And The Iron Bull has only one eye but he uses it better than two. I can't sneak through them."

Sera waved her hand dismissively. "S'okay. Should work. I think."

She tapped a finger against her jaw in a jagged rhythm, and Cole found himself doing the same to the cats. They hissed and squirmed and ran away, leaving him staring after them sadly. Sera didn't notice as she squatted next to him. "You're my friend, yeah?"

Cole blinked. She didn't feel bright and clear like the Chargers, but there was no anger in the air. "I tried to be," he said. "You gave me a cookie that was better than ale. So I think we are friends on the outside. But the inside is wrong."

Sera snapped her fingers. "Of course. We haven't finished yet," she said. When Cole looked puzzled, she smiled. "Didn't Varric tell you?"

"We still had more lessons," he said, thinking back to Varric's words when he left. "He said I was still learning."

"Well, I can help out, yeah? Give the dwarf a break. And friends aren't friends until they have some fun."

He looked at the elf girl solemnly. "It was fun when you jumped off the roof."

"No no, not like that. Fun, like, to other people. Pranks. Jokes. Laughing," she said impatiently.

"I laughed."

Cole shrank back when Sera growled. "Do you want to be friends or not?" Her face broke into a devilish smile. "Her Glowiness and I did it once. It helped us."

"Josephine was very angry," he said, but already he was brightening. If Ellana did it, then it was a good thing. She was the Inquisitor, and she was always right. He stood, then paused. "This won't hurt Ellana, will it?"

"Of course not," said Sera. Her tones were indignant as she rose up as well. "I wouldn't hurt her."

He relaxed. "Okay. I'll finish our friendship. What should I do?"

Sera's expression sharpened. "We'll start tomorrow night."

* * *

Ellana slept loudly, rustling and snoring in the cold Frostback air. Cole and Sera perched in the shadows on the Inquisitor's balcony railing and waited for her to settle into something deeper.

He looked at the yawning space below them. Compassion was never afraid, but the man who used to be compassion was starting to understand why he should have been. Sera kept her eyes focused on the dimly lit room.

"Don't forget," she whispered, light as air. "We get caught, you hang around all innocent while I run."

"I'm not innocent."

"You don't have to be it, you just have to look it."

"Okay," he said in a tiny voice. "This is fun."

Her teeth gleamed under the moon's light in reply.

Eventually the sleeping elf calmed into a heavy slumber, and Cole and Sera dropped lightly onto the stone platform. They crept into the chamber and split as agreed. Sera ghosted to the desk while Cole found the trunk he'd been assured was Ellana's shoes.

While he sorted through them carefully and silently, looking for one blue slipper as he'd been told, he saw Sera pick up several shining glass bottles from the place where the Inquisitor did all of the things the Inquisition needed. Cole frowned, but Sera held up a warning finger to her lips, so he said nothing. Once he'd found the shoe, he made his way back to the silently giggling elf.

"Inky's ink," she said quietly, shaking the bottles. They tinkled against each other, loud as thunder in the quiet room, and she stilled instantly.

Ellana didn't even move.

Sera stared at her with an odd expression before motioning Cole back to the balcony with their prizes. "She'll go mad looking for this stuff in the morning," she said as she swung her legs back to the treacherous footholds they'd used to scale the walls. "And she'll never even know we were here."

* * *

"Vivienne, are you sure I packed both of my blue slippers when we came back? I can only find one of them."

"Of course, my dear. I supervised the entire endeavor, if you'll recall. I hope you don't intend to begin doubting me at this late hour."

"No, no. I guess I'll look again. And Josephine, I need some ink sent to my room, please. Unless you want me to answer all of that correspondence in blood."

"But I asked them to ensure several bottles were provided to you, Inquisitor!"

Cole looked across the breakfast table at Sera. She didn't look back, but there was a small smile lurking around her mind. Cole kept his own broad smile carefully inside. His mouth couldn't show all the things he was learning. Friends were more fun with secrets.

* * *

The next night they were there again, and Cole went to the desk to take the new ink.

Sera grabbed his arm and shook her head. "You mad? She'll definitely know something's up if we take that again," she whispered quickly. She cocked her head at the sleeping form and grinned. "Take all but one of the quills. I'll cut the other one so it breaks. Try writing fancy 'correspondence' then, huh?"

* * *

The night after, they put back the blue slipper and took a slim brown boot.

"She wears those to see the horses," whispered Cole. "It's her only pair. That's tomorrow."

"Exactly. Can't wait to see her face." Sera stepped next to the bed and studied the peaceful, snoring face. "Yeah, it'll be good."

The next morning the Inquisitor showed up to the stables with one brown boot, one foot unshod, and a deadly expression that no one dared to comment on at all.

* * *

"How much fun must we have before we're friends?" asked Cole as they perched once more. The Inquisitor was very quiet this time, so he kept his voice as delicate as a feather.

"Tired?" asked Sera curiously. "Thought spirits didn't need to sleep."

He noted happily that she said spirit. He was so pleased that he didn't argue that he was also person, even though he was. "I just wanted to know when I should ask Varric for more lessons."

"We'll see," she said. She nodded to the still room and they slipped inside. Cole had been told to to rearrange and hide some books on the shelves, while Sera stepped once again to the shoe heap. For a Dalish elf, Ellana liked shoes.

Cole saw Sera stiffen and look around warily when she was a few steps away. He abandoned his task and moved to her, a little panicked by the fear enveloping her mind. When he got close enough she suddenly gasped and waved him off, looking directly up, but he felt his foot catch on something hidden in the dark room. The world flipped upside down, and Sera vanished down the staircase as he rose into the air like magic.

When a candle's light flared into the dimness he flinched, but he didn't look away from Ellana's face when it came level to his own, upside down. "I met you this way," he said thoughtfully. "You're stronger when you're on your head."

"Cole?" said Ellana. Her voice and feelings were tinged with disbelief. "Were you the one stealing my shoes?"

He thought for a minute. "Just borrowing and returning. I won't keep them forever."

"Why would you do that?"

She didn't seem mad. Which was good because he was going to lie to her. Friends had secrets, and Sera was a secret friend. He frowned, which to Ellana must look like a smile. "Are you my friend?"

"Yes," said Ellana carefully. "Of course I'm your friend. Did you need my shoes to find that out?"

He tasted another feeling, a strange image that made him laugh. "Why would I put your shoes on my feet? They go with yours. On mine they wouldn't be home."

The elf relaxed a little, but she made no move to let him down. He looked up at his neatly tied ankle. "May I have the world the right way again?" he asked. It was sad to ask, because this was more interesting than the usual way, but his head felt too light.

She muttered something in Elvhen and pulled on the rope tie. Cole lowered more gently than he would have imagined, and he caught himself with his hands on the ceiling that would become a floor. When he stood he wobbled a little, and Ellana grabbed his arm. "You didn't answer my question. Why were you taking my shoes?"

Sera was his friend. But so was Ellana. Which one should he have the secrets with? "For fun," he said evasively. "To make people smile."

The Inquisitor rocked back on her heels, her face set in a grim mask. "I see," she said. She walked down the stairs and threw the door open. The guard stationed outside, obviously asleep, was startled to crooked attention by the bang. "Find Sera and bring her here, please. You should be able to follow the trail directly past you, I believe."

* * *

The city elf was struggling and swearing when two guards carried her in. "What is this, the Alienage? A girl can't shoot a few arrows in peace?" They dumped her unceremoniously on the floor at Ellana's signal and left. As soon as the door clicked shut, the swearing stopped.

Cole watched her curiously from his soft chair, focusing hard. She sounded annoyed but she felt worried. "Did you snitch?" she demanded of him. "Friends don't do that."

"Your _friend_ said nothing of you." Ellana's face was thunderous as in her emphasis, and Sera flinched and looked away. "But I'm not a fool. Did you expect him to take my anger in your place, _lethallan_?"

Sera recovered her composure and glared. "Don't talk that elfy crap with me. And don't talk noble, either."

"I'll speak as I choose, in the middle of the night in my own rooms," said Ellana. "I can't believe you did this."

"It's just shoes," muttered Sera. "And some writing stuff. You gonna throw me in the dungeon?"

Ellana huffed a breath. "Not that. This," she said, pointing back to Cole. He didn't understand the words or the feelings that were happening now, but they made him want to be smaller. "Cole is a good person, a kind person, and you… It was very cruel of you, Sera."

Sera stood in an explosion of anger. "I wanted to see in here, yeah? See you. Not like you come to see me anymore, too high and mighty for the likes of the tavern, or a roof. The Inquisitor can't be eating cookies with some orphan girl who cuts her hair weird. Can't shag a Jenny who'd sooner steal from your new noble friends than bow to them," she said. She spat on the ground. "To the bloody Void with them all."

"Sera," began Ellana, but the other woman cut her off.

"And I had to know if you were alone. Okay? I had to know. But you'd just laugh if you saw, so I brought him. But it was like, Josephine got you such a nice bed, thought she might be using it herself."

To Cole's astonishment Sera began to cry, big, silent drops that rolled down her face unimpeded. She never raised her hands or blinked them away, seeming not to notice them at all, but they were there all the same, and he hadn't felt them coming. _I want to help my friend_ , he thought, but he didn't know how.

Ellana didn't move, stunned and a little afraid. _You're no son of mine_ was all Cole could hear, but it was an Elvhen voice and the words weren't the same. He jumped to his feet and crossed to Ellana, to put his head to hers. "You're Dalish," he said quietly.

"I am," she said.

"They need babies. Squalling, screaming, saving. The People are dying because they never live."

Sera made a sound in her throat, half-questioning and half-revelation, as Ellana nodded. The Inquisitor looked at her bare feet. "Having children with another of my kind is my duty. Anything else is a renunciation of all that I am."

"Sod that," said Sera fiercely, finally swiping away the wetness on her cheeks. "Your duty is you. Even when you're small, just because someone says you have to be something stupid you don't have to listen. And you're the damn Inquisitor."

"The world will be your children," whispered Cole. "You'll raise us all."

A startled feeling crossed the Inquisitor's mind. "Is that something I thought?"

Cole shook his head. "It's something I know." He touched her chest lightly. "Your thoughts are in your heart, now."

Ellana flushed and looked at Sera, who stepped closer and asked, "What's the good of being big if you can't eat cookies and make out, yeah?"

"No good at all, I suppose."

"You can have babies and still not be stupid and locked up in here, you know. It's not like I have the l-word all over me or whatever. I just like the kissing."

"Liar," said Ellana, but her voice was relieved.

This time it was the Inquisitor who moved, and the two women drew into a gentle kiss that was made considerably less gentle by Sera's impish tug at Ellana's hair. Cole watched with interest as they swirled around each other. He'd seen sex before, when he was a ghost, but it was very different to be a real person on the outskirts of it. His mind said he should turn away, but he didn't know why. They weren't hurting anymore. He'd helped.

"I'll leave," he said eventually. He made to circle past them to the stairway. "Tomorrow I'll remove the footholds so your shoes will be safe, if you like."

Ellana pulled away from Sera and turned to him. "No. I mean, yes, remove the footholds, but no, don't leave. Sera needs to apologize."

"What?" said the now-unabashed elf. "I'm sorry I took your shoes, okay?"

"I told you, not that," said Ellana, rolling her eyes. "Though I'll get you back for the stables." She gestured to Cole, and Sera's face twisted once more.

Cole waited for the next thing to happen as Sera stepped towards him. She looked at his chest and muttered, "Sorry."

"For what?" said Ellana patiently.

"For tricking you into the pranks and getting you caught in a rope and running away," Sera said in a big rush. "There, you happy?" she added, turning back to their leader.

Ellana nodded, but Cole frowned. "It was a trick?"

He focused on her mind and felt the truth of her, and the lies that she'd been hiding before. All the air went out of him as he realized what was real. "We aren't friends. I failed your lesson."

Both women made small noises, but he was already turning away. "I'm sorry I couldn't learn, Sera. I'll try to do better, next time."

* * *

Cole and Varric were at the tavern once more, but this time for a different lesson. Cole looked into his mug once more. "Varric, you said that this was for happiness."

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's for when you're feeling down. Does a man good to drown his sorrows every once in awhile. Then he can be happy again."

"People who drown aren't happy."

Varric sighed. "We're going to have to work on idioms later. For now, bottoms up."

"My bottom was up when Ellana caught me at her shoes," said Cole curiously. "Will that happen again here? It didn't last time."

The dwarf put his head in his hands but never got the chance to answer as another body slid beside him. Two full glasses plunked down on the table, and the silver thought was back, strong and eager. Cole looked up in surprise to see Sera watching him and drumming her fingers on the table in that eternal broken rhythm. She shoved a glass over to him.

"I bought you a drink," she said.

"Where's mine?" said Varric, frowning.

"I only buy drinks for my friends, dwarf."

Cole looked into the mug he held, then the one she'd pushed across the table. Hers didn't have anything happy inside, either, but the place where she'd touched the glass was warm and bright. Like the Chargers when they sang too loudly. He leaned back to study her face and realized she was nervous.

He smiled. He'd read that emotion with his eyes instead of his head.

"I have to drink this glass of sadness, first, to learn how to drown. But then I can have your friendship," he said.

Sera groaned. "Ugh. Are you ever going to start making sense, demon thing?"

But she said it with a quick grin and a pull from her own drink that let him inside of the joke. Later they lounged on the roof together, sharing a plate of cookies with Ellana and watching the sun rise. It was beautiful over their fortress home, and close enough to touch without pain, but it was dim compared to the light that friends carried for each other. Cole kept the secret tight to his chest, the hidden brightness around their darkness that made them all real.


	11. Hawke 2

It began when they were all sitting in her new Hightown estate, conversing with that uneasy camaraderie that was slowly developing into true friendship. Three years hadn't been enough to glue her comrades in arms into a unit, but they were all trying. Without Bethany to act as their center, it was harder now. Hawke certainly wasn't capable of being so magnetic.

Fortunately a well-stocked liquor cabinet was helping smooth the way.

She watched as Varric told her mother and Aveline an outrageous story that was part truth and part lie. It was easy to spot the difference - the truths were always the boring parts. Fenris sat with Isabela as they swapped linguistics lessons in their native tongues while Sebastian listened without appearing to. Anders and Merrill lounged by the fire and said little, but they seemed happy enough for the silence.

Hawke hoped Anders would fall asleep here, at least for awhile. Her new fortune provided him protection and a steady source of food, but only the Maker could get him to sleep.

Unfortunately, Isabela was eyeing the Grey Warden in a way that heralded a very poor night of sleep indeed.

Hawke was idly considering asking Varric to offer Isabela free drinks at The Hanged Man if she went back to it alone when there was a knock at the outer door. She stood reflexively, ready to answer it as the youngest person of the household, when an indulgent look from her mother reminded her that they had servants for that kind of thing now. Being an Amell instead of a Hawke was like learning another life.

_And,_ she thought fiercely to herself, _being a Hawke wasn't so bad. A lot of things were better when we were all Hawkes._

Bodahn knocked lightly on the library door and ushered in a red-haired man wearing fine clothes and a sour expression. He held a sheaf of flowers in his hand, and Hawke wondered disinterestedly if he was some noble suitor here for her hand and her newly discovered fortune. He wouldn't be the first since her elevation, but he would be the first to come in person to request it. Probably a mistake, given the lower-class dirt and warrior-class scars that covered her sought-after hand. In person she would be a disappointment to any fortune hunter, but she refused to wear gloves to hide who she was.

It was something of a relief when he turned to her mother and bowed. "Lady Leandra, the Viscount presents his compliments on the restoration of your estate and begs your forgiveness that it did not transpire more quickly," he said. His voice was the dry sound of Fereldan leaves crunching underfoot, adding a sarcastic edge to every word he spoke, but Hawke suspected that had more to do with his nature than with the task he was undertaking. "Please accept these flowers on his behalf."

Her mother stood with a gracious nod, and Hawke breathed more easily when she saw that she was in the mood to be Lady Leandra instead of an irritated Fereldan this evening. "The Viscount is too kind to remember us. Please thank him."

She took the flowers in both hands like an actress receiving her accolades, and just after she held them to her face Bodahn appeared with a vase. For such an unsubtle man, he had a way of moving with a grace that seemed like magic.

Hawke flinched at the reminder of Bethany, gone as though she'd never been.

The red-haired man looked around the room slowly, his eyes falling on all of the women in turn. Isabela was a narrowing of the eyes, Merrill a shake of the head, and Aveline a curt nod of acknowledgment. His muddy brown gaze finally rested on her, and his expression lightened marginally. Too late, Hawke realized he was holding a second, smaller, sheaf of flowers.

"And Lady Marian Amell. For you, again with the Viscount's compliments," he said. He held the flowers coolly, waiting her own manners.

Screw manners.

"It's Hawke," she said, folding her arms.

"Of course," said the man evenly. "Lady Marian Hawke."

Hawke didn't unfurl. "Not Lady. Not Marian. Just Hawke."

She didn't know why she was being so obstinate after her own relief at her mother's grace, though Fenris's lazy grin and her mother's exasperation were signs that she was certainly achieving her objective of being ill-mannered. The visitor's expression never changed, and she wondered if that was because he'd expected only crassness from someone so lowborn.

"The flowers are yours regardless of which name you choose. Unless you would like me to return them to the Viscount?" he asked. His tones indicated he didn't care one way or the other.

"I'll keep them."

But instead of taking them, she nodded to Bodahn, who took them himself. A quick smile flashed across the red-haired man's face, almost too quick to see. His mouth looked like a razor's slash, crooked and thin, but even such a jagged smile seemed incongruous on him. It changed his countenance from sour to wry, and his eyes still held humor even after his face settled back into his original disdain.

Hawke narrowed her eyes, taking the smile as a challenge. "You have none for my sister, Bethany?" The Viscount had done nothing to stop her capture, and Hawke wasn't inclined to forget the fact.

"The Viscount is aware of her new home," he said. "An arrangement has been sent to brighten her quarters."

There was no suitable reply, given that she would sooner fly than apologize.

After a long silence, he bowed. "Sorry to have interrupted your evening. Ladies. Messeres. Serahs."

He turned to leave the study, but paused when Lady Leandra called after him, "Please, stay if you wish. There are refreshments enough for a guest."

"Thank you, but I'm much too busy. The idle life of the nobility is one I'm not permitted, I'm afraid," he said. This time Hawke knew the sarcasm was meant, and she couldn't stop a smile.

He glanced at her, once, and she didn't try to hide her amusement from him. He coughed, and she nearly laughed.

"The Viscount keeps his messengers so occupied?" asked Anders from his place on the floor. "Or are you simply industrious?"

"I am not a messenger, Serah, though I understand your confusion. I'm Bran. Just Bran," he said, and the thin smile rose again. "I am the Viscount's Seneschal, and I am quite industrious. Good night."

* * *

The second time he appeared, he held more flowers and another message from the Viscount, thanking Hawke for her assistance in clearing out the nearby mines. The Viscount was always interested in preserving and fostering industry around the city, the Seneschal said.

She and her mother were hosting a small group of nobles to dinner at the time, and Lady Leandra cooed over the beautiful arrangements and made sure that everyone else exclaimed over them as well. They complied prettily, as all gently-reared, wealthy individuals were born to do.

The dinner was a thinly-disguised effort to introduce Hawke to better society. One of the families had a son of the right age that her mother hoped to marry her off to, but the man was barely hardy enough to make it through the soup course with her. Not that she'd made it easy for him, with her stories of mercenary life and Deep Roads explorations, but for Andraste's sake the man could barely tell the hilt of a sword from the point.

When her mother passed her the new flowers, the noble son gave a heaving sigh. "You look enchanting with flowers, Lady Amell. A relief, I must admit. I was beginning to worry you were more thug than noble!"

Hawke froze before rising slowly from her chair. "If you'll excuse me, I'll find some water for these."

She brushed past the Seneschal without seeing him and dumped the flowers unceremoniously on the hall table. Her mother almost certainly knew she wouldn't return, but Lady Leandra had learned graphically that it was wiser to make the excuses for her wayward daughter than protest the abandonment.

Hawke thought furiously of where to go this time. The Hanged Man, perhaps, or Fenris's dilapidated mansion. Or maybe Anders needed help in his clinic. She was good at wordlessly terrifying patients into obedience.

She was jerked out of her thoughts by a hand on her arm at the door. She whirled back, expecting Bodahn or even her mother, but instead it was the inscrutable face of the Seneschal. He removed his hand when he had her attention. Or because he saw her face.

"I apologize that the flowers were not to your liking, Lady Hawke," he said. "I'll inform the Viscount."

"No," she said, searching for the ragged tatters of her social graces. "They were fine. Thank him for me, Lord Bran."

"I'm no lord," he said, slightly surprised.

"Exactly," she said, stomping out into the night without a single social grace to her name.

* * *

The third time, she ran into him outside of the house. She'd just come back from Darktown and a disastrous romantic encounter with Anders - a kiss turned into a stammering explanation of why, exactly, he could never love her as she'd half-hoped he might.

Seneschal Bran blinked when she growled a greeting at him and said, with only the slightest hint of concern, "I can return another time."

There was a package laying on the ground, and she stared at it like it was a darkspawn. "That had better not be more flowers."

His face closed off into his usual sour, civil servant expression. "No, Serah Hawke. The Viscount is aware of your distaste for living things."

She flushed, well-aware herself of her vicious reputation in Kirkwall. She considered herself pragmatic. The rest of them said bloodthirsty, though none of them were brave enough to say it to her face. Her mother had given up on a noble marriage and was praying for any marriage at all. Hawke knew that she wished Bethany had been the one born without magic, instead. Lady Leandra Amell would have had no trouble finding a good match for her sister's sweet disposition.

Even the Templars hadn't frightened it out of her yet.

But no, the Amell line was stuck with Hawke as its scion, the terror of Kirkwall and a woman not inclined to pleasantries. And now even Anders had rejected her, her last, secret hope. Hawke's mother sneered at the Grey Warden apostate, but she would still regret his loss as a bargaining chip in other negotiations.

Hawke was just tired of feeling so alone.

She flushed harder when Bran spoke again slowly, as though she were hard of hearing, and she realized she'd never responded to him. "During an inventory of the armory, he found something he thought might be of use to you. A gift from the city in payment for indirect services rendered."

Hawke squinted at him, trying to decide if this was true sarcasm or his natural manner, but she had no read on him in the blazing sunlight. Still, the mention of the armory had her curious, and she bent down to pick up the package.

When she started to open it, Bran almost said something, but he seemed to check himself, and it was silent as she pulled apart the heavy cloth. Inside was a sword, gleaming and practical. Unlike some of the swords she'd seen in noble houses, this had none of the delicate metalwork at the hilt that would mean a lost grip, and none of the extra gilt that would keep the sword from striking true. It was clean and simple. A working sword, but one finer than any she owned.

It was probably a bribe, but she still looked more closely. "This has been recently sharpened."

"A dull sword would hardly be much of an aid."

That time the sarcasm was clear, and she felt it like a slap. "Of course," she muttered.

Hawke fell silent as she balanced the weapon in her hand. Perhaps slightly long for her, but that could be overcome with sufficient grip and strength. It seemed like she would have plenty of time to work on those. Alone.

"Thank the Viscount for me. This is a lovely weapon," she said, her eyes still anywhere but the man who'd brought it. She wondered if she sounded sufficiently grateful or if she simply sounded embarrassed. "I can't wait to use it."

A cough drew her eyes back to Bran. The red-haired man had his slashing smile on once more, and she responded automatically in kind. "I thought you might say that," he said. "We've received reports of bandits on the northwestern road, and the guards won't be able to respond in a timely fashion. It seems like this would be an opportunity for you to express your gratitude more physically."

So it was a bribe. But at least it was a worthy one. She nodded her understanding and went inside to gather her armor and send runners to her friends to join her for some light war.

* * *

A week later a note arrived by courier, along with a pouch of coin.

_Hawke,_

_You never came to the Keep to collect the bounty on the bandits, so I have enclosed it here. The Viscount has authorized a bonus for the efficiency of your work. The sword seems to have been a useful one._

_I hope you are in health._

_Bran_

* * *

Every time she went to the Viscount's residence, she made it a point to see the head of the city. Despite his outward disapproval of her, she appreciated his more subtle support, even though the subterfuge confused her. He never spoke of his gratitude or his gifts, but he was always polite when she dropped by.

He seemed reluctant to speak of the business of Kirkwall with her directly, but Bran always supplied the details the Viscount couldn't disclose. It was comforting to talk to someone so straightforward, who came to the point without pleasantries or flattery. He didn't treat her as a person any more than the nobility did, but she would rather be a sword arm than a brood mare any day.

But even a sword arm had to have some amusements. Hawke made a game of trying to draw out that slashing smile, and she learned quickly that jokes and lightness were the quickest way to bury his amusement, though that may have been because she wasn't very good at them. Bran smiled only when she let her natural seriousness and sense of duty shine through, when she dropped the poses and manners her mother had tried to instill in her and talked only as she was.

It was a relief to be so herself, and she began to look forward to seeing the ever-present figure outside of the Viscount's office. Bran was the one thing that never changed, even while everything around her was chaos. And she quite liked the way his burnished red hair curled over the back of his neck.

After one long conversation, they were at the door of the Keep when Fenris said, "I thought I was unpleasant in manner, but that man could teach me a few things about insults. He's astonishingly rude to you."

Anders said nothing, but Isabela laughed. "Oh my lovely, sexy elf. You have so many things to learn about the world."

Hawke ignored her. "He's not rude. He's focused. I don't mind."

"He's an ass," said Anders, and a faint blue glow ran over his skin. When she glared at him, he looked back apologetically and returned to his usual, slightly wan color, but Hawke decided not to bring the mage along on any future visits. Just in case.

* * *

A month passed before he came to her house again. On this trip there were no flowers or weapons and the study was much less formal. A game of Wicked Grace had broken out, as it usually did when Isabela was in the vicinity, and she was playing a strip version while the rest of them tried valiantly to encourage her without joining in themselves. Except for Merrill, who was wearing the extra clothing with a bemused expression on her face.

Bran stared at the half-clad pirate a few extra seconds too long, and Hawke had to laugh to herself. Even uptight workaholics appreciated the female form, it seemed. She'd always taken Isabela along with her to the Viscount's - having her around seemed to help in that male-dominated place - and Bran always seemed to enjoy her presence as much as the rest. But, to her mild surprise, once he turned to face Hawke, his eyes never wandered back again.

"Hawke," he said, not bothering to bow. "The Viscount requests that you come to his office to discuss a problem facing Kirkwall which may need your… unusual talents to solve. The formal request is in this letter." He extracted a scroll of parchment and set it on the side table.

Anders stirred and stretched, casually draping his arm over Hawke's shoulder at the end of the motion. It was his first sign of affection since her failed advances, and she wasn't prepared for it in the least. She stared at the tightening hand in confusion but said nothing, which was good because Anders didn't look at her.

"For a Seneschal, you spend a lot of time delivering things," he said. "Are they running out of menial tasks for you to complete?"

Bran didn't answer, and Hawke realized with a start he was waiting for her reply. "Does the Viscount want to see me now?" she asked, bracing herself to stand. It was late, but she'd be happy to find some more useful occupation for a time. Plus she was finally up in coin.

"No," he said quickly. "Tomorrow will be sufficient. Thank you, though. Your willingness to drop pursuits of pleasure for the business of Kirkwall makes you rare indeed."

"Aveline's tireless industry must be rubbing off on you," said Varric as he shuffled. The stack of coins in front of him rivaled Isabela's. "Me, on the other hand, I think pleasure is always business. Can I deal you in, Delivery Boy?"

The red-haired man frowned, and Hawke hastened to add, "He nicknames everyone. It's nothing personal."

"That's what you think, Killer," said Varric, and Fenris snorted.

"Killer seems accurate, from the reports that have come to the Viscount's attention," said Bran. "Delivery Boy, on the other hand, is certainly not."

Hawke swallowed a gasp and tried to keep the hurt from her face as the dwarf smiled wolfishly. "But I've already used Lover Boy for someone else."

She shrugged Anders away from her and rose. She couldn't leave the room without unbearable rudeness, so instead she strode to the darkened back of the library, as though there was something in one of the many Amell tomes that she just couldn't bear to live another minute without knowing. With luck, by the time she made it back, Bran would be gone and the card game would be back in full swing. Then she wouldn't have to think anymore about how the Seneschal, a man she thought understood her, believed that Killer was an accurate name for what she was.

When a cough came from behind her, she turned reluctantly, expecting Aveline. She was generally the one dispatched to deal with the group leader's sullen moods. Instead it was Bran, imperturbable as usual in the shadows. She realized, a little shakily, that this was the first time they'd been alone in private, and she pushed the beginnings of nervous tingles away. She was angry, and this was no romantic rendezvous.

But the feeling came back full force when he stepped into a shaft of moonlight, the silver light throwing his features into sharp relief. He looked no different than ever, but something about his stance was watchful. For one wild moment she thought he would kiss her, and she wondered how he would feel pressing her against the shelves.

Instead he said, "Should I tell the Viscount to expect you?"

Of course. He would never think of her that way. She never thought of him that way, either. What was wrong with her?

"Yes, I'll be there first thing," she said. "Thank you for bringing the message personally. I know the task is beneath you and your office."

"It's no imposition," he said. He didn't leave, and the shaft of moonlight disappeared behind a cloud. From the sudden darkness he asked, "Forgive me, but have I done something to anger you?"

She laughed, a pained sound that she wished she could take back. "I'm always angry. Or so Kirkwall thinks."

"Kirkwall is a bumbling, foolish city. It treats any attitude that's not pure frivolity as an affront," he said. "Those you've aided would not consider you angry, but just. And those of us fortunate enough to know you would judge you only as selfless and dedicated. A true servant of the city."

His voice was as close to sincere as she'd ever heard it, and she was glad the bookshelves hid her rising blush so well.

The moonlight came back and embarrassment crossed what she could see of his face. "I'm sorry for speaking out of turn, Lady."

"I'm not a lady," she said, but it was soft. "And I'm not a killer."

The smile returned, a cut across his face that seemed more comforting than usual. "You're a lady by decree, and a killer by deed. You are many other things as well, but don't run from what can help you. Those tools are no less useful than your sword, and a tool shouldn't be discarded merely because you don't like its heft."

Hawke laughed more freely then, and Bran's expression turned studious. "You have a new scar above your eyebrow," he said.

She touched her hand to her forehead and frowned when she felt nothing.

"The other side," he said, and he folded his arms. "You should see a proper healer after you fight."

"Anders is the best healer I know," she said, but it was a perfunctory response. She was much more interested in the ink-stains on his long, clerk's fingers and the careful patch in his shirt that was revealed by his crossed arms. Bran was slight, and lacked the wiry strength of her companions, but there was something coiled and waiting in his stance that intrigued her.

Before she could say anything else, Anders appeared between the shelves. "Are you coming back? Isabela's eyeing your coins."

Bran's face fell back into blankness. "I'm interrupting your evening. I'll see you tomorrow, Hawke."

* * *

"Bran has convinced me that you can be trusted with this, Lady Amell," said the Viscount as he paced. "I was against it, but I've never heard my Seneschal speak of anyone in such glowing terms before. And he swears by your discretion."

Hawke blinked in surprise and nodded slowly. Why would her patron need to be convinced of her worth? Was the man older, less mentally fit, than she'd thought? Her curiosity was so great that she let his incorrect address slide by without comment.

He didn't seem to notice her confusion. "My son has been taken by the Qunari. He is still alive, and untouched, but he will be powerful leverage for them against the city. I need him recovered. Alive."

"I'm very sorry," she said, the tension falling out of her shoulders. He was distraught, understandably, and this was even more sensitive than she'd realized. Even Aveline hadn't known what they were to discuss, and Hawke was the only one who'd been allowed in the room. "I'll find him, Your Grace."

"He must not be harmed!"

"He won't," she said. "I swear it. I've spoken to Seamus, and I liked him. I'll do everything I can to keep him whole and safe."

The Viscount looked at her sharply. "You understand this will not be a promise of any kind of betrothal if he's returned. I know your mother has been active in that quarter," he said. "Monetary compensation only."

Hawke took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. "I understand. If I may, Your Grace, I'll begin the search now. The Arishok likely has knowledge that he may share," she said.

The Viscount looked doubtful, but he nodded as she turned to leave.

"One more thing," she added at the door. "I work with a team. They'll need to be informed of our goals."

He winced. "Can their discretion also be trusted?"

She thought about Isabela's loose tongue, Varric's tall tales, and Merrill's complete lack of situational awareness. "Yes," she lied. "I swear it by my sword."

The Viscount focused on it dully. "Ah. It's a handsome one. I have one like it in my armory, I think."

Hawke started to say something, then left without a word.

* * *

Bran was waiting for her on the other side of the door. He pulled her into his own office, a neat and functional room she'd never seen, and closed the door. "I'm sorry to bring you into this, but the Viscount was talking of mercenaries or even parlay with the invaders, and I knew you would be the better option."

She didn't say anything, and he frowned. "Unless you turned him down?"

"Of course I didn't," she snapped. "I don't leave kidnapped boys unrescued."

"Then why are you so sullen?"

Usually she enjoyed his lack of shading, but she was in no mood for his judgments. "The Viscount recognized his sword. I never took you for a thief."

For the first time since she'd known him, Bran blushed. It clashed horribly with his coloring and spread farther than she would have believed possible. "The armory is meant to arm defenders of the city," he said, his voice rougher than his usual bored tones. "I believe you qualify. The Viscount trusts me to do what is right for his office and for Kirkwall."

"Because he doesn't know any better," said Hawke. "You lie too well."

She felt a twinge of satisfaction when he winced. "I've done nothing improper."

"If that were true, you wouldn't have pretended it was all from the Viscount."

He didn't reply, and she narrowed her eyes. "Has he ever known who I was at all except for some noble girl?"

Bran shook his head, once, reluctantly.

Hawke gave him her most Killer-like smile. "I thought he supported me. I thought that Kirkwall valued my sword, at least, even as its people scorned me. I suppose I'm not worth much of anything. But I'll get Seamus back anyway."

She turned away and grasped the door handle. A hand reached over her shoulder and held it closed.

Hawke was physically stronger than he was. And he had no training whatsoever in defense. She could have left in any number of ways, with or without his permission. Instead she waited, feeling his breath over her neck. He wasn't touching her at all, not even his arm brushed her shoulder, but she was still on fire with his nearness.

She'd never admit that she'd dreamed of him the night before.

But she should have known there would be no grand profession of love. He never even considered such things. The only worthwhile things, to him, were his office and the city. She was neither.

"The Qunari are dangerous," he said quietly. "Not just physically, but politically. Kirkwall can't afford a war with them. Step carefully, Hawke."

"Are you saying I should let Seamus die to keep your peace?"

Was it her imagination or did his voice sound slightly strained? "I'm saying there are lives more important than his," said Bran. "You may have too risk much to save him, though I believe you are the only one who has any chance at all."

But his regard was only the cool calculation of a civil servant. It wasn't true belief in who she was.

"I don't save people," she said viciously as she pulled the door open. "I kill them."

* * *

And kill them she did. The Qunari were already dead, Seamus's friends rather than his captors, but the mercenaries who looked to profit from their own "rescue" attempt weren't. She cut them down easily with her stolen sword and considered what to do next. She was half-tempted to leave it there, as a monument to a service the Viscount would finally value, but in the end she kept it. She was finally used to its heft.

When she returned to the Keep, Bran was waiting with the Viscount, but she only looked at the ruler as she spoke. It hurt too much to see the fear on the Seneschal's face. Fear of his city falling through her incompetence, most likely.

The atmosphere lightened when it became clear that she'd never raised a sword to the Qunari, and that she'd left on good terms with the Airshok. Once her story was finished, Seamus and his father began arguing almost immediately, and Hawke turned aside with a bone-deep weariness. She was tired of arguments and undercurrents that were never spoken. The battle, for once, had been clean and obvious, and she wanted to live in that space a little while longer.

Bran followed her into the antechamber, where Varric, Fenris and Isabela waited. The Seneschal looked at them not at all as he reached into the safe behind him to pull out a pouch of gold. His face was expressionless when he handed it to her.

Hawke counted it quickly, then dropped it on the table beside them. "I'll send the rest of the payment by courier today," she said.

"The payment is for you," said Bran.

Hawke searched him for any sign of emotion, anything that wasn't sarcasm and duty, and there was nothing. The fear was gone, and not even shame marred his narrow face, with the handsome features she'd grown all-too accustomed to without knowing it. Well, it was good to know where she stood, even if she was desperate for him to hurt as she did.

She touched the sword at her hip. "I know what this is worth. Better than you do. I'll pay for it, Seneschal. I don't accept rewards I haven't earned."

"Some people would say you've earned far more than a sword, Lady," he said blandly, and the use of the title was the final straw.

"Some people are idiots," she said, too angry for anything more sensical, and she whirled around and stalked to the door without a second glance.

Her friends trailed behind her in respectful silence until they cleared the Keep's gate, where Varric said, "Good call, Killer. Always leave them wanting more."

"I never leave them wanting anything at all," said Isabela. "What's the point?"

Fenris said, in complete non sequitur, "The abomination is going to be insufferable."

"Shut up," said Hawke, and to her minor surprise they all did.

* * *

Even more of a surprise was Anders showing up at her house in the middle of the night. He used the secret entrance she'd never sealed, bypassing all of the servants and barging into her room without so much as knocking. That wasn't a surprise in itself - he'd done similar things often enough that she barely stirred - but usually he was lit with the blue glow of Justice when he did, ready to use her desk and writing supplies to pen more rambling pages of his manifesto.

He'd dedicated it to Bethany, which was the only reason she never tried to throw him out when she lost sleep without pleasure to console her.

Tonight he was only himself, and she blinked up at him when he sat on her bed and stroked her arm. "What is it?" she asked in a sleep-furred voice. "Trouble in Darktown?"

He kissed her, and she was entirely unprepared for it. For a few seconds she sank into the feeling of the mage's skillful mouth, his probing tongue, and that overwhelming comfort of being wanted by someone. Anyone. A few long, stolen seconds, until she realized the mouth and tongue she was imagining belonged to a servant of the city who'd never thought of her as anything but a tool.

Hawke pushed Anders away as gently as she could and said, "No."

The word was soft, but it might as well have been a shout for the way he froze. His eyes darkened and flashed blue, and she tried not to be afraid.

"Isabela told me you'd finally given that ass of a messenger a flea in his ear," said Anders.

"So you thought you'd, what? Comfort me with your tongue?"

He frowned. "No. But I didn't think I'd have a chance while he was courting you. Not when you've become so obsessed nobility and pleasing your mother," he said. "But now it can be different. I haven't stopped thinking about you since the night you offered yourself to me. Justice stopped me then. I won't let him, anymore."

There were too many things to unpack in that speech, far, far too many, so she avoided them all. "And what were you and Isabela doing when she told you about my talk with Bran?"

"I'm not ashamed of sex, Hawke," he said. "I care about you, but that isn't a call to abstinence. Of course, I'll only share your bed from now on, if that's what you want."

"That's not what I want," she said. She was so tired and so alone. But that wasn't enough for this. She was sure that Anders did care about her, in his way, but his caring only came with a dose of his own ego. If she gave her body away to soothe her heart, where would Marian Hawke fit? This was a tool with a heft that was beyond her. "I don't want this at all. I'm sorry."

Anders stared at her. "But you said -"

"I was wrong."

He sat in silence next to her for some time before he stood. "Justice is happy about that, at any rate. I don't know that I'll ever be. Good night, Lady Amell," he said with a bitterness that she should have expected. But she hadn't.

And the final surprise of the evening were the tears that slid down her face to stain her pillows as she fell back asleep.

* * *

She spent the next week in near solitude, meditating away her suddenly out-of-control emotional core. Her mother intruded, of course, and Aveline forced her way into the house once with her unbreakable command. But once she learned that Hawke was searching for her warrior's center, the guard captain volunteered to guard the door herself.

Hawke smiled at that, her first smile since before she could remember. Aveline was a true friend.

After that week, she knew what she was. She wasn't a lover, or a noble, or a daughter, or even a friend. She was a vassal of the city, of the defenseless and wronged inside of it, and to throw that aside to spite a silly crush she'd barely had time to understand was unworthy of Marian Hawke. And Kirkwall.

She opened her door and padded down to the study in slippered feet to find the Amell crest. She stamped it over the envelope and left the message on the hall table for Bodahn to take the next morning. It was addressed to the Seneschal, and the letter inside was only one line.

_What does Kirkwall need?_

* * *

The next afternoon a courier arrived with a sheaf of papers, writs of bounties, locations of bandit strongholds, rumors of blood mages, reports of corrupt Templars. Some were in Aveline's careful handwriting, others in the official script of the Viscount, and still more that were only anonymous scraps. A complex marking system adorned each corner, unreadable to her, but the last page was a key that explained the code. Importance, credibility of report, and potential for ambush were all contained in the symbols.

Alongside the key was a note from Bran. It wasn't signed, but she knew anyway.

_Kirkwall needs you._

* * *

She gave the city what it needed. She fought with courage, made decisions with compassion, and tried to keep the balance of power as best she could. When she heard people whisper about her, in the Chantry or the market, she tried to remember all of the tools she held in her warrior's hands, and how little she could afford to drop them.

Bran never came to see her, nor did she go to the Keep. They communicated only through missions and money, as befit their new relationship. Much as the Divine had two Hands, they became the two Hands of Kirkwall. He was the Right, the strong and noble defender of justice, and she the Left, the one that made deals in the shadows or struck when no deals were possible.

She wondered if he would loathe her unorthodoxy, even as he used it. She hoped he didn't.

Hawke kept every aside he sent, every note exhorting her to remain cautious or congratulating her on a well-executed political move. They lay under her pillow as she slept, and their presence made the lonely nights a little less lonely. She often thought about what Anders had said, that Bran had been courting her, but as the days stretched on with no personal visit, without even a suggestion that they meet, she lost more and more hope that the mage had been right.

And then one day, months after she'd first accepted the role of the silent defender, a request came from the Viscount's office for an audience. It wasn't in Bran's hand, but she went alone anyway, too nervous to even tell her companions about the summons. They'd only tease her about it in any case. They loved to make sport of any cracks in her armor, probably because there were so few, now.

When she arrived at the Keep and made her way to the Viscount's office, the Seneschal wasn't waiting, and she tried to hide both her relief and her disappointment. Soon both were overtaken by confusion, as the Viscount wasn't there either. She wandered through the suite of rooms vaguely, wondering if she'd gotten the time wrong, when she stepped inside a small library and found Seamus waiting.

He sprang to his feet with a smile and said, "Excellent, you're exactly on time."

"For what?"

Her words faded away when a familiar, irritated voice came from behind her. "Seamus, I really am quite busy. Are you sure this must be done now?"

She spun around in time to see Bran look up from his usual bundle of papers and stop short, staring at her in shock. Of course, shock on him was a barely lifted eyebrow, but even that much of a reaction was unprecedented.

"Yes," said the Viscount's son, dancing between them with a light step. He was through the door before either of them moved. "He has a gift for you, Hawke."

Hawke barely heard him, or the snick of the door as it locked, busy cataloging the man in front of her as best she could with only brief glances. In essentials he was the same, the handsome features only made more so by the separation, and with the same stains on his hands and a light smattering of ink freckles across his cheek. But his hair was shorter, not curling so close to his neck, and his expression was softer than it had been. A little less wry and a little more vulnerable.

Or perhaps that was just how he looked when he was looking at her. She barely dared to hope.

"You have new scars," he said finally, his eyes tracing her cheek, where she'd caught a mage's spell from her flank, down to her ungloved hands, still tender from the last fight she'd won.

She shivered as his gaze moved back up to meet her own once more. "I've been serving the city," she said, and he almost smiled. She tilted her head towards his own hands. "So do you."

He held up his right hand, displaying a new callous where his quill sat when he wrote. "Yes, I've been much occupied writing out new warrants and closing the ones out we've already sent. Someone has been quite busy these last months at their work."

"The business of Kirkwall is my pleasure."

The smile blossomed fully, and he stepped one precise step closer. "A woman after my own mind."

Not his heart, though. Hawke tamped down her disappointment.

"Seamus said you had a gift for me," she said with only a hint of question. "I assume he's the one who invited me."

Bran frowned. "Yes. He lacks patience, for all of his good intentions."

"If he was wrong, I'll go."

His eyebrows raised. "No. No, he wasn't wrong. The Viscount has been," he began, before coughing and starting again. " _I_ have been working with the Gallows staff to secure your sister a more comfortable, and safe, position there. Knight-Commander Meredith has finally agreed to my request that Bethany be housed in private quarters, with a door that locks against any key but Meredith's, and that your sister be allowed whatever luxuries your family can provide to her. In addition she will be allowed family visitors whenever they desire, as I know it's been difficult for you to see her as often as you wish."

Hawke stared as he continued. "I'd meant to wait to tell you this until she was settled, so that you could see the new accommodations first-hand, but Seamus couldn't wait for everything to be finalized, it seems. He has much sympathy for the mages, likely due to his association with the Qunari."

Bran sniffed, lightly, and even in her surprise she smiled at his clear disapproval. "But that is a matter for his father to control and me to manage."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I'm the Seneschal," said Bran, frowning. "It's my job to clean up the political messes -"

"No," she interrupted. "Why do this for Bethany?"

He reddened, just a little, and this time she was the one who stepped closer. Bran stared at her boots. "Your sister is a good person, of course, and I'm happy to do this for her," he said slowly. "But it is also for you. You dislike flowers, the title is mostly your mother's pleasure, you paid for your sword, and I know that the bounties we pay you have been funneled to help the city's poor. You deserve a reward that you cannot forfeit. The city owes it to you."

"So Kirkwall did this? Because it needs me to keep helping it?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, little more than a whisper, and she held her breath.

He finally met her eyes, and his voice carried a new determination. "No. I did this. I wanted to make you happy, and I fear I've done a very poor job of that until now," he said. "I hope this is acceptable."

"Yes," she said, and he relaxed slightly. She took the final step towards him and lifted her hand. "Only one thing could make me happier."

Bran closed his eyes when her finger touched his lips. "Hawke," he said quietly, and she smiled at the way his mouth moved under her touch. "I don't know if this is wise."

"I do," she said, and she lifted on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his mouth. She was half-afraid he wouldn't respond, but she needn't have worried. As soon as she drew back he dropped the papers he was holding to pull her to him once more, wrapping his hand into hair. Hawke gasped in surprise, and he groaned into her mouth as his tongue swept through it. She tilted her head upward and let him explore her with all the fervor she'd dreamed he would have.

Only when she felt her knees trembling and his hands shaking did they break apart. Hawke licked her lips unconsciously as she looked at him, and Bran followed the movement with his gaze before stepping away.

"I apologize," he said, as calmly as if he'd brushed against her in the street. "That wasn't part of the gift."

She giggled, actually giggled like a teenager, and he looked slightly alarmed.

"I'm sorry about your papers," she said as soon as she was in control of herself.

"They needed to be reorganized anyway."

That set her off again, and she stumbled to a nearby couch to collapse as the laughter overwhelmed her. When she finally blinked away the tears from her eyes, Bran was sitting next to her on the couch with the look of a man who was waiting to see if a trap was about to explode.

"I'm fine," she said. "Really. That doesn't usually happen."

"I'm glad to see you smile," he said, though she thought there was still a hint of terror in his expression. "And you have a lovely laugh."

"Does that mean you'll kiss me again?"

Not waiting for a reply, she leaned into him and spent several minutes confirming that, indeed, he would. When she was done, she leaned back and said, "I liked the filing code you used for the work you sent me."

He smiled, and this wasn't a cut or a slash but the light grin of a man who was truly amused. "I designed it myself. And the fact that you liked it shows why I cannot help but be unwise, with you."

She sobered, and he shifted to match the new mood. "I don't want you to compromise your work, even though I want you," she said. "If this is truly unwise, I won't ask you to continue."

"Whether you ask or not makes little difference," he said. "I've admired you for a very long time, Hawke. Since that first night we met, the one where the Viscount really did send me to congratulate your family and you were so terse. Focused. You had no tolerance for empty formalities, though you accepted them in the end to expedite the encounter. It mirrored my own feelings on the matter. And, of course, you're very beautiful," he added as an afterthought.

She snorted. "So you liked me because I was rude and common, and continued to like me because I have a pretty face."

"That's not what I said," he said, frowning, and she smiled and kissed his cheek.

"I liked you for all of the same reasons," she said. "And that you never lied to me. Until you did."

"I didn't know how to approach you," said Bran. "I am not considered a catch in Kirkwall society. Or any society. The Viscount gave a convenient excuse to drop in, and I only liked you more with each meeting. By the time I knew I should be honest, I feared my honesty would chase you away. As it did."

He looked at her cautiously. "And your Warden friend, Anders, seems very familiar."

"He's not even my friend, now. Not really," she said. "I plan to be much more familiar with you, if you'll let me."

Bran sighed and touched her cheek lightly. "I am never happier than when I see you," he said. "Yet we are both important to the balance of this city. If we are known to be… familiar, I worry there will be obstacles to our continued working relationship. And, of course, secrets are never truly secret."

"I know," said Hawke. "My friends already know that I'm doing all of this fighting mostly to impress you." She thought, then shrugged. "I can't help what the city thinks. I'll do what I can, but I won't let it rob me of joy any longer."

Bran watched her with his deep, serious eyes, and she wavered. "Unless that isn't what you want, of course."

The silence stretched out between them, like the moments before the first strike of the sword, where she held her breath and waited to see how much the strike would hurt. But this was one blow she wouldn't block or return in kind. Bran, the other Hand of Kirkwall, deserved her deference. He already had her love.

"My life has been one of propriety," he said eventually. "The rules exist for a reason, to keep society from collapsing around us into so much rubble. I'm proud of them. I uphold them. I will never cease in this duty."

Hawke opened her mouth, to say she understood, because she truly did for all she would hate to walk away. But before she could say a word, he took her hand and kissed it lightly with a smile as devilish as he ever got. "But it would be very exciting to break one, wouldn't it?"

She laughed, and he swept her into his arms once more. And as she told him later, when their breathing slowed and they shivered in each other's arms, she didn't know if there were rules about fornication in the Viscount's suite of offices. But if there were, they'd broken them all.


	12. Cassandra

Cassandra Pentaghast, former Right Hand of the Divine and current Lady Seeker, walked out of the armory at her usual early morning hour. She sighed with satisfaction. While Skyhold was never what one would call quiet, this time of day had seen the tavern's patrons stumble home while the rest of the fortress hadn't quite cracked their eyes open. It was a pleasure to be alone. A blessing too-rarely bestowed lately.

She swung her arms across her body, loosening up for her morning's sword work. Her favorite practice dummy beckoned her, and she bounced on her feet as she made her way across the yard.

As she got closer, she frowned. There was a sword, abandoned, leaning against it like a discarded toy. She knelt to examine it, already preparing a blistering lecture for the ranks on proper treatment of weaponry. The lecture only lengthened during her inspection. The sword was fine-quality and not Inquisition-made, clearly someone's personal weapon they'd brought when joining. It also showed signs of use and care, which was at odds with it being casually forgotten in the middle of an empty practice yard.

She'd made up her mind to throw it into the pile of general usage swords, as a lesson to a careless soldier, when a voice called out behind her, "Lady Seeker! Forgive me, I seem to have left something behind."

She turned with the sword in her hand to see a young man in training clothes jogging towards her. It was the standard outfit of the rank-and-file fighters, but the quality was better than most. He wore his brown hair shoulder-length, and it was matted slightly with sweat, though he looked fresh and awake as he grinned at her. His accent was Fereldan, but she recognized the careless, devilish glint in his eye from the many times she'd argued with Dorian. About everything.

Cassandra sighed. Almost certainly a noble. Definitely trouble. She held out the weapon. "You're a new recruit, I take it?"

"Yes, Seeker. Dean Bernier. My father is a minor lord in the Bannorn with a surfeit of sons with an overabundance of charm. He suggested I find a cause or find a wife. I thought a cause might be more enjoyable. The Inquisition fit the bill." He tipped his head. "How did you know I was a new recruit? Do you have all the soldiers in the army memorized?"

She snorted. "Hardly. But only a new recruit would be careless enough to leave his sword behind. Skyhold may be the safest place in Thedas, but nowhere is completely without danger."

"Of course, Lady Seeker. I appreciate the instruction. I will keep my weapon close and endeavor to look in every shadow I pass in case of fiends."

His mouth quirked a smile, and she rolled her eyes. Recruits were always like this, thinking they were invincible because the Inquisition seemed invincible. He'd either learn soon enough or die ignorant. She held the hilt of the weapon out to him, and he took it but made no move to leave.

She raised her eyebrows. He stayed still.

After a long moment she turned her back on him and began the opening pattern of her warm-up. When a spin brought her around again, the recruit was walking backwards towards the barracks. He raised a hand in a jaunty wave. She ignored him.

* * *

A week later, Iron Bull asked her to hit him with a stick. Again.

When she was facing him in the yard holding a length of wood and feeling ridiculous, she asked him why he didn't just get Evelyn. He smirked. "If you're gonna be on the battlefield when a demon could be crawling its way up my ass, I have to know you can take care of me."

He looked her up and down. "So far, you haven't impressed me much."

She hissed and swung the stick at him without warning. Bull roared as it hit his stomach. "Much better!"

After a few more hits, and a few more roars, they settled down to more traditional sparring instead of one-sided battery. Cassandra settled happily into the sparring. His long reach was always a challenge for her, and her shield work sharpened considerably after their training sessions.

Bull mostly gathered bruises and invented innuendos. Usually the innuendos came right before the bruises.

Twenty minutes in to the workout, they took a break. They drank from waterskins in companionable silence, though Bull seemed more distracted than usual. He itched the skin at the base of his horn before nodding across the yard. "Who's the kid over there? Looks new."

Cassandra took a pull of water and turned. "Oh, yes. Dean something. He's a Fereldan noble who forgets his sword in the yard after he trains. I don't think he'll be around long."

"Hmmm," he murmured, but he didn't say anything else.

Until she picked up her own sword again, and Bull roared across the yard, "Dean something! Get over here. Bring your sword, if you've got it."

The man snapped his head around. When he saw who'd called, he threw an insolent salute and jogged over.

"The Iron Bull himself," he said. "Nice yell you've got, I see where the name came from. And the Lady Seeker. Nice to see you again. Was there something you needed? Something fetched, polished or otherwise looked after in some way? I remain a humble servant of the Inquisition." He swept his arm back and bowed, the picture of subservience.

"Kid, my name definitely didn't come from my voice," said Iron Bull, amused. "But I like your enthusiasm."

The other man didn't reply, only straightened and tipped her a wink. Cassandra wrinkled her nose and waited for Bull to be finished with whatever lesson he was about to deliver.

Bull crossed his arms and nodded to her. "She's got a technical flaw when she tries to guard low that's going to get her killed by anyone decent. I need you to fight her while I correct it, since you definitely won't be able to kill her no matter what."

"I do not have a flaw!" she protested. "My technique is just fine."

"It pains me, but I must agree with the lady, your Bullness. She seems flawless to me," said the Fereldan.

She seethed. No wonder they had a hard time getting women to the battlefield. Men were cads. She spied Evelyn and Cullen in the shadow of the tavern, sparring politely but intensely. When Evelyn scored a hit across his armor, Cullen shook his head and laughed easily.

Perhaps just the ones in this vicinity were cads.

"On second thought, I would enjoy the opportunity to teach a new recruit a lasting lesson," said Cassandra, readjusting her gauntlets.

Bull took in her expression and grabbed her sword before she was settled. She glared at him, and he handed her a duller practice version from the rack behind him.

"Let's just keep the lesson a life one," said Bull. "The boss said we can't kill recruits in here anymore. Keep your shield." He turned to Dean, who was still grinning annoyingly. "Okay, kid, swing at her a few times then come at her low across the side and stop when you hit her shield."

The recruit followed his directions, and she blocked each blow forcefully. She smiled when he winced at the vibration in his hand after a particularly strong parry. Then he came at her low, and she pivoted and guarded without thought.

"No!" said Bull. "Stop there. See where your feet are? See how you're not pointing them at your attacker? See how easily I can do this?" He plucked Dean's sword out of his hand and snaked it into a hole in her guard, right at a soft place in her armor.

Cassandra colored slightly and shifted her feet into a better position. He handed the sword back to the recruit. "Good. Better. Again."

They went through the exercise several more times. She concentrated fiercely on her footwork and was relieved when it started to come instinctively. They finished with a longer, more natural fight, though the recruit still came at her low several times to force her to check herself. She held her own easily even with a strange and inferior weapon, and eventually he conceded, wiping sweat out of his eyes.

"Well fought. Impressive skill and grace. Now even more flawless than before." He grinned at her tiredly. "I can see why the Templars knuckled under so easily with you at their throats."

"Thank you. You have a lot of work ahead of you, but you are not hopeless."

Cassandra pivoted to Bull with an embarrassed nod. "Thank you for the instruction. I apologize for my arrogance."

As she walked away she heard Bull say behind her, "Good lesson for you too, kid. There's always something left to learn."

* * *

_You should have seen it, dwarf. That kid practically charmed me out of my pants -_

_Not that that's hard._

_True. But I called him over when I saw him staring, and he definitely wasn't looking at me. And she didn't even notice. We have to do something._

_Why? If she's not interested what's the point?_

_You've seen how tense she is. When she gets tense, she asks you to write that crappy book again. Do you want to write that crappy book? Don't even get me started on how it gets out in the field with the tight-ass rule following. It would be one thing if she just wasn't into him, but she's wound so tight she didn't even know it was an option. Come on._

_Fine. We're going to need to get the Inquisitor involved in this, though. She'll kill us if we don't._

* * *

Cassandra sighed and wondered why she was in a tavern instead of writing her reports. She stared at the blonde head dancing in front of her as it looked for a table and rolled her eyes. Inquisitor's orders. They were supposed to have fun.

She jumped when Evelyn grabbed her hand and yanked her forward. "Look, it's Bull and Varric! We can sit with them."

Despite herself, she perked up. She could pester Varric about the next installment of his book, at least. Not a total waste of a night. They drew closer, and she saw two additional people at the table. Krem, Bull's second, and that new recruit who'd seen her humiliation with her shield. She suppressed the urge to bolt.

Evelyn dragged a bench to the table and plopped down, dragging Cassandra with her. "Hey guys! What are we talking about tonight?"

"Mostly how many things Krem and Bull have killed, respectively," said Varric. "You'll be amazed, but they disagree on who has more."

The recruit leaned forward. "The argument hinges on if Bull should get extra points for each demon, since he's afraid of them. Bull says yes, Krem says if that's the metric then Bull has almost no kills, since nothing else scares him."

"Pointless and unsolvable. Sounds like a great topic," said Evelyn. "By the way, I'm Evelyn. Are you new?"

"Yeah, he's Dean something, boss."

"Dean Bernier, actually. Fereldan, father is minor noble, et cetera. We've met before, Lady Trevelyan, though you won't remember. I was eight, and we danced briefly at a party in Ostwick for our parents. I believe it was a crude waltz. I now drink off of that story wherever I go." He ran a hand through his hair. "Best dance of my life. So far."

He shot a grin at Cassandra, and she gritted her teeth and tried to smile politely. Inquisitor's orders.

"It must have been so transcendent that I forgot about it entirely," said Evelyn.

"That's understandable. I have that effect on most women. But I withdraw myself from this particular field, as my Commander would surely beat me soundly in any duel for your favor," Dean said, chuckling ruefully. "Your beautiful companion beat me with barely any effort just last week. Iron Bull can bear witness to the great shame I brought upon my father's house that afternoon."

"Don't feel too ashamed. Cassandra beats Cullen nine times out of ten," said Evelyn. She slapped the table, dislodging a few coins from its surface. "Oh, speaking of Cullen, I forgot I have to check in with a mission he's running. I'll be right back. Actually, the Chargers are involved. Bull, Krem, will you come with me?"

They stood and left, leaving a vacuum of silence in their wake. Varric cleared his throat. "I need a refill. Can I get you something, Seeker?"

"No," she said, "I brought water, thank you."

Varric shook his head sadly and walked towards the bar.

Dean looked at her incredulously. "You brought water to drink in a bar? In this bar? Doesn't that get you barred for life or something?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Perhaps. I've never been in here before. Evelyn convinced me to try the atmosphere." Inspiration struck. "You could tell the bartender about my beverage to discover his reaction."

He laughed, then. "Oh no. I think you're hoping you would be barred, and I have no intention of letting you escape so easily. If the Commander's extremely loud and repetitive instruction has taught me anything these weeks, it's that you have to press home every advantage."

"I should imagine in conversations you always have the advantage. It seems to be a noble birthright. Both Evelyn and Dorian can never leave without the last word."

"But you're noble as well, Lady Pentaghast. Much nobler than my humble self. Surely you must have had the same training."

"In Nevarra, the only noble birthright is dragon hunting," she said. "And I am Seeker, when I'm here, not Lady Pentaghast."

"I can't call you Seeker in a bar. It's uncivilized!" Dean looked scandalized but his eyes were warm with laughter.

"Varric managed it."

She looked around. Where was the dwarf, anyway?

"Ah yes, but he and I have very different views on you, I think," said Dean.

He reached across the table and brushed her hand. She twitched it away and stood so quickly the bench rocked back.

"I think my friends may be some time. I have some reports waiting for me. Excuse my rudeness."

He stood as well, more serious. "My apologies, Seeker. I didn't mean to startle you. Please allow me to escort you to your quarters."

She raised her eyebrow. "They're twenty yards away."

"Yes, but someone very reliable told me that even Skyhold could be dangerous at the wrong moment. I'd hate for you be accosted by fiends." He grinned again, ruining his studied, grave look. "Besides, no decent woman would leave a man to drink alone in a bar."

* * *

_Cole, what are they saying? I can't hear from all the way up here._

_He's not a spying device, Inquisitor._

_Chuckles, why are you even here? I can't imagine that you care about any of this._

_I don't. I came to make sure you wouldn't mistreat a spirit, which you are clearly attempting to do._

_Wait, it looks like they're leaving. That's fast. Is that good? You humans are so confusing. The Qunari are a lot less modest about this stuff._

_I know you'd like to see the Seeker enjoying herself with an ardent lover in front of all of us, but some of still have to sleep at night._

_Oh come on, it would be a great story idea!_

_Some ideas should die before they hit the page._

_Her heart beats a little faster, his eyes are warm like chocolate. He wants to take the long way back._

_Now we're talking. Let's follow them._

* * *

They walked the battlements for reasons she still didn't understand. Something about learning how to patrol that made no sense, but Dean Bernier was very persuasive. Fortunately his mannerisms became less florid and his speeches less ingratiating once they were up in the chilly night air, and she relaxed a little into their conversation. They spoke of tactics, of life in the Inquisition, even of the other soldiers, though she noted with approval that he only told cheerful stories and didn't attempt to inform on them to her.

Not that she didn't already know exactly who was trouble and who wasn't, but his discretion bespoke an intelligence that would serve him well. Intelligence she hadn't been sure he possessed, to be honest.

Eventually talk shifted to his own life in Ferelden, and he made her laugh with tales of his beleaguered father with too many sons. If they were all as spirited and irreverent as this one, she was amazed he hadn't packed them all away sooner.

"It sounds like you could have used a sister," she said. "Several, probably."

"The Maker loves his children too much to ever do that to someone, I think. Even your strength may have faded in the face of our adventures. Or more likely, we'd have convinced you to take part." He looked at her. "Though I imagine you keep your own brothers in good order."

A flash of pain. "I had only one brother. He died."

"I'm sorry, Seeker. I didn't realize."

She examined his face, looking for the amusement it always held, but he was truly serious. He was very handsome when he was serious. He must have seen something change in her eyes, and he reached up to run his finger down her cheek. "Is that where you got this scar?"

Cassandra didn't draw away but raised an eyebrow at him. "You do realize I am more than ten years your senior?"  She tried to put enough bite in her voice that he knew she meant it, but enough humor that they would move away from sad topics.

He followed her lead easily and dropped his hand. "I would never presume to guess at a lady's age, but your maturity is certainly one of the most appealing things about you. Besides all the other things."

His eyes sparkled, and she realized this might be an even more dangerous tone. She quickly reversed.

"My scar has no glorious story. I'm glad it exists. It lends me credibility. The Inquisition forces respect me now, but whenever I meet new fighters, especially men, it's always a trial to prove my skill over and over. It helps to look battle-hardened. But it had nothing to do with a fight."

Dean looked at her expectantly, and she sighed. "As a child, I snuck into the armory at the estate and took down a sword that was much too big for me. I wanted to fight dragons, and I knew my toy swords held no chance. I swung it around uncontrollably, lost my grip, and it sliced my cheek. I was lucky not to lose an eye. My father barred me from the sword room from that day on, but he also started me in training the next week. In a way, this scar is the price I paid to learn to make others bleed."

Dean laughed. "It's good to know your determination manifested young. Though I would never have expected you to be so reckless."

"My tendency to rush in without consideration is a constant trial to our Inquisitor. I don't like to wait for things."

He stepped closer, brown eyes full of humor. "I wouldn't necessarily call you a fast mover."

Light fingers ran down her arm, and she didn't stop him, though she knew she should. Her stomach fluttered, instead, traitorous under the frozen, midnight-blue sky.

"I'm glad you told me the story of your scar, Lady," he said, "though I don't think it makes you look hardened. Without it, your beauty would be so perfect as to be terrifying, unapproachable. Now it makes you all the more beautiful for being human. Soft enough to touch. I have to admit I'm relieved."

He leaned up and kissed her, sudden as a storm and soft as a cloud. His lips were warm in the cold night, and he wrapped both hands around her waist and pulled her to him. Her hands went to his shoulders, feather-light, and she deepened the kiss without thinking. He responded with force, and for a minute they were lost in each other.

At a clatter in the distance, they both sprang apart. A devilish smile flickered across his lips. "My apologies, Lady Seeker. I failed to look into the shadows for a minute there. Won't happen again."

She huffed a breath into the night and watched it float away. "Yes, well. We're not on duty, I suppose."

His smile widened. "But what pleasant duty it would be." He reached out his arm in noble escort and gestured toward the armory. "If I may escort you home, m'lady?"

Cassandra looked at the arm like it was a giant spider, and he laughed and fell into step next to her.

When they reached the door he took her hand inside his. "I'm glad that this evening didn't turn into what I expected when Bull and Krem asked me to join them. It has been ever so much more interesting."

There seemed to be no reply to that without danger or fear, and she cast about for some pleasantry. Nothing presented itself, but he didn't seem to mind. Their hands still touched, a spark of heat, and she found herself studying his face. His brown hair danced a little in the winds of the courtyard, and she resisted the urge to smooth it down, then wondered if the bar had somehow done this to her even with her own water supply.

"I leave tomorrow for a two week training patrol," said Dean quietly. "I'd very much enjoy continuing our talk when I get back."

She colored under his gaze and looked away. "Perhaps."

But she kept her hand in place.

"Be careful on patrol," she added. "Don't take it lightly. There are dangers in the mountains beyond wind and cold. And your sword work still needs a lot of improvement."

He gave her his cockiest grin. "Now that I know you're concerned for me, I'll wear it as armor so thick nothing will be able to take me down." He kissed her hand. "Until we meet again, Lady Seeker."

* * *

_Wait, he's leaving Skyhold? Damn it, I knew you should have gotten Curly involved._

_You've seen Cullen play cards. He can't keep a secret for anything. And if I asked him to alter his training program for no reason, he'd think I was insane._

_Aren't we insane, though? This feels a little insane._

_I know I feel cheated. I was just starting to enjoy myself when this clumsy Vint dropped his mug._

_I'm the one who has horrible ale soaked into my trousers, chief. Trust me, it's worse._

_Uncertain, hesitating. Closing her heart. He's too young for trusting. Safer to stay inside herself._

_Ugh, great. Why does she have to be so stoic warrior? Say, kid, can't you make her forget about all of that for a little bit? To help her?_

_Absolutely out of the question, Varric. He's a spirit of compassion, not a spirit of manipulation._

_Fine, fine. Okay I have another idea, but you're going to have to trust me. And we're going to need Dorian and Sera and the Chargers. And a lot of swords. And some of that bandit armor we grabbed from the Storm Coast._

* * *

Two weeks passed both quickly and slowly. Cassandra caught herself looking up each time hooves clattered over the bridge, then cursing herself for her own stupidity. He was a young, cocky noble who liked to flirt and found her an amusing challenge. She was old enough to know better than to think him serious. When he returned, he'd probably have moved on to some other target.

Even if he hadn't, she would set him straight. She was not some conquest to be hunted, nor would she submit to being a lewd tale passed around the barracks. Foolish strolls under starlit skies aside, she would not compromise her authority for so slight a thing.

The morning of the patrol's scheduled return, not that she'd been paying attention, she went to the morning meeting. Cullen gave all the routine updates from around Thedas, then closed with Skyhold-specific business. "It seems that the training patrol we sent out ran into some trouble right before they returned. Some bandit activity in the mountain."

Her heart leapt into her throat. "Are they okay? Was anyone injured?"

The table glanced at her curiously, and she swore to herself. Usually she said less than nothing unless specifically asked. But Cullen didn't question her, only shook his head. "No, they're all fine. Use of magic, but nothing the Templar escort couldn't handle. The bandits scattered quickly. No casualties."

He frowned at the report in front of him. "They were certainly very strange bandits."

She barely heard him as she fought to school her face into polite interest.

"The men all returned last night and provided their report. We'll need to start warning our patrols to be on the lookout for any other activity in the area. Anything else? No? Meeting dismissed."

* * *

She headed back to the armory with a carefully calm stride. Inside her mind was tumbling. He could have been hurt, but he wasn't. He'd returned last night, but she hadn't seen him. He had moved on, like she'd expected. She was glad. She was furious. She wasn't sure what she was.

As she reached the door, she heaved a sigh and tried to find peace. With luck, her choice had been made for her, and all future heartbreak was spared.

When she stepped inside, she stopped. Dean sat on one of the tables chatting cheerfully with the armorers, feet swinging carelessly beneath him. His face lit up when he saw her, and he hopped down with a flourish.

"Lady Seeker! I have returned at last from the war, slightly bloodied but still unbowed." He held out his hand, revealing a small slash across its back. "Tree branches are surprisingly treacherous."

She folded her arms. "I heard there was more danger than snow-covered trees in this training exercise, recruit."

The armorers, no fools, all made quick excuses to leave. She nodded to them as the passed, but Dean waved good-bye and called them all by name, the bastard. When the door closed, he turned back to her still smiling. "Yes, there were a few miscreants, but we faced them down gloriously, and they turned tail like the cowards they were. The Inquisition remains a force to be reckoned with."

"It's no joke," she said, irritated. "They had mages. You could have been hurt."

He stepped towards her, smile fading. "I know. But I wasn't. Seeker, you've never seen me fight in earnest. I may be still learning, but I take it very seriously. I would never risk my well-being or the lives of those around me. But I don't want to take it with me off the field. I enjoy life too much. While your own unflappable demeanor makes you enormously appealing, I wouldn't wear it well."

She shook herself, remembering what she'd decided. "Yes, about that. You are young and handsome. You like to flirt and are clearly good at it. While I can't deny you're charming, I am not accustomed to these kinds of casual affairs. It would be best if you chose another target."

To her irritation, his expression only grew amused as she spoke. And he certainly made no move to leave. "I would never make the mistake of treating you casually in anything. Especially when you call me handsome."

He reached behind him to the table. "Speaking of the bandits, they left me a gift. While most of their gear was poor, almost unusable, there was one sword of superb make. I'm amazed they left it behind. It was almost like the Maker threw it at my feet as they ran off. A holy gift worthy of Him, if so."

Dean held it out to her, and she took it despite herself. The workmanship was excellent, almost Inquisition-quality. "The lieutenant agreed I could keep it, but the balance doesn't fit me correctly. I think it would work well for you. I want you to have it."

She nearly dropped the blade. Only years of long training stopped her, and Dean bit back a laugh when she growled at her clumsiness. She thrust it at an imaginary enemy, feeling how perfectly crafted to her it was. "I couldn't possibly accept this. It's worth far too much."

"What is gold compared to your life? Use it to make others bleed, so that your allies never scar."

Dean brought himself close to touch her cheek again. His eyes melted into hers as he smiled. "Cassandra, I do like to flirt with you. And I am young, though not so young as all that. But you've occupied my thoughts for weeks now, waking and sleeping. I don't claim love. We don't know each other well enough for it. But it's no casual affair I want with you."

She stepped past him to place the sword on the table, then turned back, ready to argue. A hint of uncertainty flashed across his face, and she stopped short. Uncertainty was a sensation she would have thought completely foreign to this man, a man who expelled confidence like breath. If he could doubt - if he could care enough to doubt - was this a thing she could trust?

"And will I become a tale to pass around to your squad when the affair burns away?" she asked.

His expression darkened, and she saw a hint of the man who might live on the battlefield. Despite his words, he wore it very well indeed. "If there are tales being passed around about you, they won't be mine. And they won't be passed for long," he said. He looked up, and his expression cleared slightly as he watched her face. "Because I'll come and tell you and Iron Bull. Between the two of you, my squadmates won't stand a chance."

Cassandra laughed in spite of herself, then pulled him to her and kissed him, wrapping her hands behind his head. He leaned against her and took her mouth eagerly. His hands whispered up and down her back, and she sighed a little into his mouth. He broke away to feather kisses up her cheek to her ear, nibbling enticingly. She arched back over the table and he gasped a little as her hips pressed against his. He looked at her face and asked a silent question.

"Let's go upstairs. I'm sure the armorers would like their room back," she said.

He stepped back and gave a formal bow, grinning, and she picked up the sword again. She stopped short as they were climbing the stairs. "Wait, if I take your sword, what will you use?"

"Oh, don't worry, I still have my old one. It's safely with my gear, cleaned and stored. I brought my dagger with me, though, so I'm not unprotected from the demons of Skyhold." He tugged at her to get her moving again.

"Did my speech inspire this new conscientious attitude?" asked Cassandra. "Or did the Commander finally drill protocol into your heads?"

He blushed a little. "Actually, I've always been very careful with my weapons. But I couldn't figure out another way to introduce myself to you with no one else around."

She stared at him in disbelief, then kissed him again. They stumbled up the last few steps in a tangle of limbs.

* * *

_What's happening? Cole, can you get a sense of their moods? Did he give her the sword?_

_I never thought I'd see the day when you tried to exert control over a spirit. Welcome to the club, Chuckles._

_I merely wish to know if we were successful in our efforts._

_This kid is good, guys. I'm sure he's got it under control. He hasn't been thrown out yet, has he?_

_He'd better be good. Those Templar spells are still wreaking havoc with my magic. I can't believe I went to this much effort to get a handsome man into someone else's bed._

_Don't complain; you're a romantic just the rest of us. I'm pretty sure Cullen's already figured us out, though. He asked me some pointed questions after his briefing this morning._

_I told you we shouldn't have let Bull come. He's too obvious. How many bandit groups have a giant horned guy fighting with them?_

_Hey, I started this whole thing. No way I wasn't going to get to the good part. Scaring recruits is classic._

_At least the sword turned out okay._

_Oi you lot, I got the jars of bees. Now who are we throwing them at again? Are they in there?_

_No! I told you, this is not a bee mission. No bees are required._

_But they're all ready to go! I shook them up so they'd be really stingy, yeah? We can't just leave them sit now!_

* * *

Dean stopped lavishing his attentions on her mouth and lifted himself onto his forearms. "Do you hear screaming? Should we see what's wrong?"

Cassandra slid her hand down his bare chest and hummed a negative. "There are plenty of people on guard today. They'll solve the issue. If they can't, they'll find us." She moved her hand lower, brushing her fingers over the fabric of his pants, and watched his face.

He breathed heavily and closed his eyes. "But what if there are fiends in Skyhold?"

She pulled his head back down to hers. "I'm planning to take care of the one on top of me, for now."


	13. Dorian 2

The young messenger carried the letter like any other, stuffed inside a satchel with a dozen pieces of correspondence. When she stopped in front of Dorian's chair in the library, she rummaged through the bag for several minutes before finally extracting it. She'd already half-turned to leave before he reached out, and he studied her carefully.

Not disgust, he decided. An all-too-familiar reaction, of course, and one he'd gotten very good at spotting in his time here. No, she was simply in a hurry to be gone, to check off another dreary task from the endless list the Inquisition presented to her each morning. A troubling paradox of military organizations. Its members became almost as displeased with peace as they were with war.

But it was just as well that she had no attention to spend on him, because when his fingers touched the scroll he stiffened like a man awaiting a blow.

And wasn't he? The soft feel of that paper could only be Tevinter, and Tevinter could only be pain.

_("Isn't it wonderful to live in a place with so much history?" asked Felix, spreading his arms out to encompass the city square. Centuries-old buildings hemmed them in, a tomb of time, and Gereon's enthusiastic Qarinus tour seemed determined to relive every moment of them._

_"I find the Imperium's past delightful," said Dorian. "It's our present that has so little to recommend it.")_

He murmured a thank you, and the messenger left him to his dread. A quick sniff uncovered no trace of perfume, so he would at least be spared his mother's vague, dithering pleas for familial peace. But the small hope it was Maevaris similarly vanished, though entertaining the hope at all had been a fool's errand. She was a society friend of the first order, but a society friend nonetheless. The Lucerni high command only corresponded through the Inquisitor these days, to avoid even the hint of Imperial collusion.

It protected them both, wisely, but hers was a very lonely brand of wisdom.

Dorian rose and made his way to the living quarters, weaving through the southern eyes that laid on him at every turn. As he traveled through the halls, he slowed his stride to the leisurely place of an afternoon shopping jaunt. The library had become an oasis in a desert of stares, and in it he could be mostly himself, but the rest of the fortress saw only Tevinter and magic in his shape. His carved staff leaned against the wardrobe in his room, abandoned and safe, and his steps were unfailingly casual, but every soldier turned to watch him as he passed.

The wooden door to his room had banded iron latticing across it, and his fingers brushed across its cool blackness as he pushed it open. A guard who'd followed him down the hall stopped in a nearby alcove, checking the ties on his greaves. His eyes never lifted, but his mouth drew into an ugly line when Dorian turned to greet him.

A tongue of fire rose on his palm, unbidden, and Dorian bit back a hiss of annoyance. He stepped into his room and shut the door softly, then checked the scroll for damage. Only the ribbon showed light charring, and he sighed in relief. There had been enough heat in him to destroy the entire document, he knew well. The blasted south and the blasted north, together, had slipped past his control. This was why he read these letters alone.

Yet still he hesitated, toying with the knotted threads on his quilted bedding while the scroll rested next to him. When he finally reached to untie it, he found himself praying to see his father's heavy, blocky handwriting. It would only hold careful diplomacy, the guarded language of a man writing to a business partner about the facts and figures of his life, but that would at least be a familiar ache. Because if it wasn't his father, it was Felix, and likely the end of things.

_("Stop reading and come with me to the Swan," said Felix. "A traveling troupe is giving a magical entertainment. They're the best in the Imperium, and I want to see."_

_Dorian marked his place with a wounded look. "My dear Felix, accuracy in reporting, please. What would your tutors say?_ I _am the best in the Imperium when it comes to magic."_

_"That's not the same. You create wonders, and Maker knows they're useful, but they're almost never entertaining," said Felix, pulling him out of his chair with a laugh.)_

The letter drifted open, and floating in the expensive ink on the finest paper was indeed the end.

* * *

The rest of Skyhold continued living through it, and Dorian listened to its muted sounds as he absorbed the silent words in his hands. A soldier shouted over clanging metal, putting the waiting army through its paces with stern efficiency. A maid tripped past his closed door, singing a bawdy tavern song. The gates crashed and clanked as another wagon arrived bursting with the material goods needed to keep their operation fed and clothed. And still the future rolled in like the tide.

Felix had spoken to the Magisterium about the Inquisition, and its Inquisitor, in commanding terms. He'd exhorted Tevinter to shun the Venatori, to take up arms in solidarity with the south who fought so valiantly to keep them safe. He'd raised cheers in that dusty, cavernous chamber where old men sat, believing that change was a young man's game.

It was too much to hope that those cheers would echo, now.

_("I can't give this speech," said Felix, a note of panic in his voice. He tugged on his exquisitely tailored jacket and blew a breath to the heavens. "There are two hundred people out there! I'm better with small groups."_

_"Nonsense," said Dorian. "You'll be enchanting. Do stop squirming, however, before you take the lectern. You look like a puppy in the early throes of house-training."_

_Felix glared. "I hate you. This was supposed to be your presentation. You did all the work."_

_"And the glory will be your father's," said Dorian, smiling lightly. The introduction concluded, and Dorian pushed Felix to the curtain as the applause began. "And yours. Go out and impress the people, why don't you?")_

Dorian reread those inadequate, final lines once more, written by an Alexius cousin in impersonal terms. _I'm sorry to say that Felix succumbed to the Blight two days ago. He went peacefully and quickly. The service was exactly as his father would have wanted. It was well-attended._

He wondered if this was better than a cut throat in a demonic future, or worse. He wondered if Felix had still become skin stretched over bone, a ghoul in human clothing, a pleading, hollow shell. He wondered if anything in this new world could ever be peaceful, or if it was only agony. He wondered if Gereon had been waiting for his son across the Veil.

But mostly he wondered if his own father had attended the memorial of Felix Alexius, Dorian's last friend, and felt nothing but relief.

A flash in the corner of his eye tore him from his musings, and Fade-touched fire blossomed in his hand. The silken paper he held caught alight, vanishing in an instant that felt even shorter than it was. Shaking away the dust, wavering between mourning and terror, Dorian turned until a floppy hat appeared.

He relaxed. "Cole, you're not supposed to do that to people anymore."

"You loved someone who is dead," said Cole, perched on his desk.

"Yes, I imagine we all have at this point. It's not a time in Thedas for the faint of heart."

"He was dead while he was alive. Dying inside you. He tried to live, but you never told him he could."

_("You should grow a mustache," said Felix. His legs dangled over the arms of a wing-backed chair, kicking aimlessly into the air._

_Dorian cocked an indulgent eyebrow from his desk. Felix had been out the night before, celebrating his scholarly accomplishments with his university set, and his eyes were barely open. "Should I?"_

_"Yes. A long one with twirly bits on the end. And a goatee." Felix snuggled into the fabric and yawned. "You'll look older. And handsomer.")_

"Some things are better off left inside one's own head," said Dorian. He smoothed a sooty finger over his upper lip, then wrinkled his nose and moved to the wash basin. "Political ramifications, friendships in the balance, you know how it is."

"Yes," said Cole. "Letting things out is sometimes wrong. I know that now. But only sometimes. It's hard to see if a thing will hurt more inside or out."

"Indeed. It's difficult even for those of us who aren't spirits," said Dorian. That was near the center, and ugly, and he reverted to their original topic. "But I suppose we all love people who are dying, don't we?"

"Who?"

"Well, ourselves. We'll all die someday. Except perhaps you."

"It's not the same to wave at death across the room as it is to shake its hand. It's not the same to love a ghost who is not yourself."

Dorian drummed his fingers on the basin absently. "I can't argue with that. But there's also the Inquisitor. The mark on her hand is killing her slowly, and we all see it. But we love her anyway." He sighed. "I don't know that I have justification to be forlorn. She's the one under a death sentence, and we certainly never hear her complain."

"I do," said Cole, surprised. "But I make her forget. I help."

Dorian stared at him, and Cole stared back. His eyes were simple, without guile, and Dorian shivered a little. "Promise me you won't cause me to forget this. It needs to be remembered."

"Okay." A small silence. "Felix means happy. You made him fit his name."

"Is that something you see or just something I wish?"

"It's something he wished for you to see."

Cole vanished.

* * *

Better to be an opportunist than a fool, and better to be a coward than both, so Dorian spent the afternoon in his room reading. He lounged across his bed, legs crossed at the ankles as he worked through collections of old Tevinter stories. The Alexius crest was neatly inscribed on the inside of each cover, and his finger stroked the outline while he wandered through his memories. Children's tales fell well outside of his personal tastes, but they'd been Felix's passion, and he'd never stopped trying to share it.

_("These are the best magic," said Felix, waving a battered copy of ancient stories through the air. "The Magisterium could never dream of things this beautiful. Noble rescues and intricate plots, justice restored and evil overthrown, the low born and highly raised mingling together. And the romance! Can you even imagine the Archon extolling the beauty and virtue of love?"_

_"Not and keep my dinner down, no," said Dorian. But his mind didn't conjure the Archon at all. It was Halward Pavus, blood on his palms, using his magic to remove love from the world. "It's late, and your father has an early morning planned. As enchanting as this story time is…"_

_Felix's eyes shone in the magelight. "Wait. One more. I'll do voices this time!"_

_"Very well," said Dorian, leaning into the plushness of the sofa and closing his eyes. "One more.")_

He'd felt like a sneak thief, slipping into the library to abscond with the books on his way out of the Alexius manor, but the thought of leaving them behind had been intolerable. And Felix had practically memorized the stories; he only used the books in his readings for the appearance of the thing. Without Dorian to listen, he'd likely never even noticed they were gone.

* * *

Dorian read until dinner, steadfastly ignoring the outside world. His heart contracted at each familiar line, but after he finished his eyes were dry and clear. When he opened his wardrobe to change, he smiled to himself, a quick slash of anger that glittered where no one could see. He'd been incorporating Fereldan and Orlesian items into his wardrobe, placating steps of diplomacy, but tonight he would remind them all of what he was.

He walked down to the hall every inch the impeccable Tevinter interloper and took to his usual corner of the room. Back to the wall, full range of vision, and a small table where it was less obvious that no one would join him.

So when Evelyn sat down, he nearly dropped his spoon. But under the surprise, his well-trained machinery was already turning. "Inquisitor! A rare honor indeed. Can I assume you've tired of the unsophisticated company you keep and will finally allow me to whisk you away?"

She smiled and fluffed her hair. "I'll never be a sophisticate. The Trevelyan manners are mostly myth. Though I have been wondering how many forks you use at a usual meal in Tevinter. The last diplomat they sent seemed outraged we had only one set of cutlery at his plate."

"Yes, we do like to complicate things. I'm surprised dear Josephine didn't know down to the last setting."

"I'm sure she knows everything, but she's been in Val Royeaux dealing with some family business. We muddled through, I guess. I should have consulted you."

"You should consult me in everything," said Dorian, eliciting a smile and a quick roll of her eyes. "But in this case it mattered little so long as you were at the table. In the Imperium, the answer as to how to act is always: act in keeping with the most important person in the room."

_("That was a nightmare," said Felix. They'd collapsed into the sitting room as soon as they returned, too exhausted to contemplate mounting the stairs._

_Dorian unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled the sleeves up to the elbow. "I wasn't aware dinner parties were so abhorrent to you. Though I'll grant that the number of fawning debutantes was certainly disproportionate," he said. He chuckled. "Watching them spar over you was practically a bloodsport."_

_"As though they had time for an Alexius with a Pavus within range. Most of my conversations revolved around securing your favor."_

_"You're welcome to the lot of them," said Dorian, sighing. "My favor isn't so precious as all that. And I'm too old for the dance in any case."_

_Felix snorted. "You're only four years older than me." He pushed himself up and trudged towards the staircase. "Someday you'll have to accept your own value, Dorian. You're not going to be my father's apprentice forever.")_

Dorian gave Evelyn a slight bow. "That's you, now."

"I like that. I'm going to start eating with my hands at all state meals."

"Excellent! Don't tell Josephine I was involved. She's rather cutting."

They ate in silence for a while until she asked hesitantly, "So how are you doing?"

"Me? I'm delightful and handsome, as usual." He raised a curious eyebrow. "Unless you know otherwise?"

"I may have heard you got a letter with bad news."

He scowled. "Cole told you?"

"No," she said, puzzled. "Why would he tell me?"

Before he had a chance to explain, she glanced across the room. He followed her gaze and took in Cullen and Leliana talking quietly. Leliana seemed entirely unconcerned with them, her purple hood down and puddled over her shoulders, her fork waving through the air in the pantomime of some story she was telling. From the gestures and Cullen's blush, it was graphic.

There was nothing suspicious in it at all, but Evelyn was no Wicked Grace player.

"Ah. Our dear Nightingale does so love to learn our business."

"She was concerned for you."

Concerned about his reaction, perhaps. Concerned that he might become too Imperial to tolerate in his grief. Dorian held no illusions about the direction of the concern the Inquisition's inner circle held for him.

He opened his mouth to say something cutting, the societal equivalent of Fade-fire in his hands, but Evelyn's downcast eyes gave him pause. The Inquisitor was surrounded by suspicious minds, as was right, but she had never been so jaded. She was young and eager and kind, and the type of woman who might read children's stories in the privacy of her Inquisitor's chamber.

"Gereon's son passed away. Felix. You met him in Redcliffe. He was one he was trying to save…" He trailed off as Evelyn winced. "Felix was perhaps the last decent man in the Imperium, and I include myself."

"It was the Blight, wasn't it? His illness?"

"Yes," he said. He shrugged. "But I'm well. It's never pleasant to lose a friend, but in truth I hadn't seen him in years until he got in touch with me about the Venatori. It's not as though we were close."

_("Am I your best friend?" asked Felix. He smiled winsomely over his glass when Dorian rolled his eyes. "My birthday isn't over yet. You promised."_

_"I promised to lay aside my natural reticence and sarcastic wit, not submit to an endless interrogation," said Dorian. He tilted his head towards the packed tavern. "You have a hundred other guests to entertain."_

_Felix waved them aside._

_"Fine. If you won't be dissuaded, then my honest answer is that, for a man with a hundred guests at his intimate birthday party, to name a best among them is impossible," said Dorian, taking a drink. "They would all wish to claim the title. To compete would do a disservice to their good natures."_

_"Pfft. If that's your stance, then you've already won. I love everyone here, but they collect friends like bottles of wine. You don't let anyone in."_

_Felix stood and laid a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "A stone is more valuable than a sea of gemstones, if it's the only one of its kind. I'll gladly claim the honor of your friendship," he said. He left, calling over his shoulder, "Thank you for the gift.")_

Dorian's stomach clenched, and he breathed through the nausea.

The Inquisitor toyed with her food and said, "Some parts of your life are bigger the less you see them."

And what reply could he make to that? He stayed silent, glaring, willing her to stop.

But Evelyn was well-known for her bravery. "I know you said you weren't involved, but it seemed like you cared a lot about him."

He jerked back, stung. "I would never have seduced the son of my mentor. Do you think me as opportunistic as all that?"

"You don't have to seduce someone to love them," she said. Her eyes strayed again to Cullen.

_("I can't believe you fell asleep on your desk again," said Felix. His voice was amused, but a thread of anger flowed inside of it. "Is that the fifth time this month?"_

_Dorian grumbled as Felix tugged him down the hall. "This temporal magic is even more dangerous than I thought. If I don't dissuade your father soon -"_

_They rounded a corner and he broke off, swearing, as Felix bounced him off of it. He raised a finger to his nose, already summoning healing wisps, but Felix was faster, and his hand was there in an instant. "Maker, I'm sorry. It's not much good me telling you take care of yourself if I break your nose in the middle of the lecture, is it?"_

_Coolness spread through him, numbing the pain and increasing his exhaustion. "Your lectures do often leave me battered and bloody," said Dorian. He opened his eyes and blinked at Felix's obvious distress. "Don't fret. It will take more than late nights and a brush with a wall to mar my incomparable good looks."_

_The hand on his face stilled, then softened into something much more dangerous. Dangerous, and melting, and desperately terrifying. Felix's thumb drifted down, across the smooth line of Dorian's mustache, around his lips. "That's true. You're always beautiful. Even when you've utterly drained yourself."_

_And Dorian was too tired to stop it, to want to stop, when Felix kissed him with sweet, aching hesitance. By the time Dorian found his sanity, he'd already responded with fire, and as he pushed Felix away with a grunt, he knew his father had been right all along._

_"No," said Dorian. His room was close, and he made for it without looking back. "Never again.")_

He placed his napkin over his dish and pushed back from the table. "When I want someone, Inquisitor, they are well aware of it. Not all of us are as spineless as you."

She gasped, pain flashing across her face, but he ignored it. He ignored them all. Dorian swept out of the room, feeling very small.

* * *

Later that evening a knock came at his door. Dorian considered for a moment, then dropped his bottle to the ground and got up to answer. Whether ally or enemy, it would be comforting to have a fight. And if the floor tipped and wavered slightly, how much easier it would be to lose it.

He'd expected Vivienne with a smooth reproach, or possibly Cullen with a chess board. Instead the fearless Evelyn waited for him. She pushed her way into the room without a word, but when he spun around her face wasn't angry.

"I'm sorry for prying," she said. "I was trying to help, but that's no excuse."

The rolling floor stilled, and his own anger fled across the Veil into grief. "I understand. It's merely that… Felix was very important to me. He didn't know, not completely, and now he's past knowing. Our friendship was unequal, in many ways. I wish there had been a method of changing that."

"He probably knew you valued him," said Evelyn, smiling softly. "I know you think you're some kind of master of deception, but you're not that hard to read."

Dorian gave her a mock glare, and she laid a hand over his own. "And you're better at friendship than you give yourself credit for."

"I think I amply demonstrated I am no such thing not mere hours ago. I apologize deeply for what I said at dinner. It was not only uncivilized but completely false."

She colored and shook her head. "It's okay. I needed to hear it. I'm going to do something about that soon."

"Good. Life is short," he said, but his voiced hitched embarrassingly on the words.

Her hand squeezed, and like a signal he hadn't known he was waiting for, that was enough to break him.

Dorian closed his eyes. "Felix and I weren't involved in a traditional sense. He was young. He didn't know what he wanted, but he did like trouble. I am generally a reliable source for trouble both in and out of the Imperium, so we were a natural fit. He approached me once. I turned him away. As Alexius and I had already been disagreeing on his research, I left the house shortly after."

_("You don't have to go," said Felix. He paced the length of Dorian's room, running a hand over his shaved head. "This is madness."_

_"Without your father's patronage, I cannot expect to remain," said Dorian. "Besides, the Imperium's vintage is souring, and I've lost my stomach for it. My father -"_

_"Is an idiot. As is mine, if he would lose you as an apprentice."_

_"You said yourself that couldn't always be," said Dorian. Felix started to protest, but Dorian held up a hand. "Enough. Nevarra will be a good place. A fresh start. Their Circle never rescinded their offer of work."_

_Felix sank to the bed, a shimmer across his eyes. "Stay. I'll be your patron. Please, Dorian."_

_Like a thunderclap, his father's accusations about this post with Gereon Alexius rang out. About the handsome son that Dorian would drag to the same shame as himself. About the ways that Dorian was predictable and weak and never content to allow others their happiness._

_Dorian flinched. "Felix. I can't. Your friendship is dear to me, beyond all others, but this path is my own. As it must be," he said. "Your path will be entirely less lonely, of that I'm certain."_

_"I'm sorry for that night," said Felix, looking down. His fists tightened, pale circles on his lap. "I didn't mean to - I thought -"_

_Dorian leaned down and kissed his forehead, gently. "It's forgotten. Write me, won't you?")_

He swallowed, hard, thinking of all those unanswered letters. "If I'd stayed, I would have accompanied Felix and his mother on their trip when they were attacked by the darkspawn. They might not have died."

"Or you might have died with them."

He tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"I'm glad you're here," said Evelyn, her voice a gentle comfort. "I'd miss you if you weren't."

Dorian smiled and raised her hand, kissing it softly. "You can't miss what you never knew."

Though she gave him a look that understood far too much, she said nothing. Instead, she pulled him toward the door. "Come with me."

"If you're taking me to drink, I must warn you I've gotten a head start," he said, but he consented to be dragged.

She didn't answer, and they walked out of the room in silence.

* * *

They ended up in a usually dark corner of Skyhold, now lit with a small fire that was surrounded by several figures. Dorian blinked tipsily. Varric, Cole, Leliana, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Solas, Cassandra and Cullen all sat on low benches. They were talking to one another, but their conversation fell away at his approach.

Evelyn settled him on the empty bench that completed the circle and took the place beside him. He cocked an eyebrow at the group, though they probably couldn't see it in the firelight. "This is a surprising assortment of the Inquisition's best. What are we doing here?"

"We're having a memorial," said Varric. He passed Dorian a bottle. "This one is for you."

He glanced at Evelyn. She shrugged, but Cole answered the question he hadn't asked. "You want to remember. You worry he'll slip away if you're the only one who holds him. But many hands can hold one soul and make it bigger. I told her we could."

Bull cleared his throat. "The Qunari have a ritual we perform, when a warrior with honor dies away from the group. We gather together and those who knew him answer questions from the others until we all understand him as well as the ones who miss him most. It keeps us alive when we fall and binds together the people who are left, the ones who share the memories. Plus we get really drunk."

Dorian shot the hulking figure a sardonic look. "Is any of that true? You Qunari are practically allergic to sentiment."

"Do you want it to be true?"

"I suppose I do."

"Then it is. Start drinking."

Dorian sighed, but he took a pull off the bottle and noted appreciatively it was good Tevinter stock. He looked over at the anxious Inquisitor and decided to make some amends.

"Commander," he said, " I'm surprised you're here. I thought you supervised the early training every morning."

"I do, but the Inquisitor told us that you'd need your friends tonight. And it's always worth lost sleep to remember a brave man. Leliana says his speech in Tevinter has already done a lot of good."

"He would have been pleased to know it," said Dorian. "And I thank you for tonight. I suppose dear Evelyn is quite irresistible when she puts her mind to it, isn't she?"

Evelyn gripped his knee in a bruising vise, but he only grinned merrily. Cullen mumbled something inaudible across the fire, his hand creeping around the back of his neck, before he suggested someone ask a question in a louder voice.

Cassandra, always the first into the fray, began. "What was the quality that made him most a friend?"

"He accepted everything about people. Situations, policies, choices, those he would fight with all he had, but who you were was never a problem for Felix. It's hard not to like someone who never judges you. He would have liked the Inquisition."

_("So what did you think of the future?" asked Felix. The Redcliffe Chantry was empty, save them, and his eyes were everywhere but Dorian. His hands twisted together in front of him, grinding together in painful pressure._

_"Why didn't you tell me you were so ill?" asked Dorian._

_"Because there's nothing that can be done about it," Felix answered. He smiled sadly. "It turns out both of our paths were lonely.")_

Blackwall's rough voice came next. "And what made him dangerous to his enemies?"

"That he would so quickly turn them into friends. If they weren't careful, they'd find their minds completely changed without even knowing it. A mage he knew when he was young tormented him for a week. Because she liked him or because he was so outspoken, he never knew, but by the end of that week with barely any effort he'd transformed her into a lifelong friend. That sort of power is dangerous." Dorian looked into the fire. "The Venatori are very lucky he's gone."

_("I would have come back, had I known," said Dorian. "I would have been with you. Your mother."_

_"I know," said Felix. "I didn't want to be selfish. You'd already done so many things for me that you didn't want to do.")_

"Was he hot?" said Iron Bull. Cassandra slapped him, and he threw his hands in the air. "What? It's important! I didn't get to meet the guy since the boss wouldn't take me along."

"I'm not exactly Josephine," said Evelyn, irritated, "but taking a Qunari to meet a group of Tevinter mages seemed like a diplomatic misstep."

"That's exactly why I should have gone! Shown them you don't care."

"Perhaps another time, yes?" said the Nightingale, cutting off Evelyn's next protest in tones that allowed no possibility of dissent.

They subsided and muttered apologies, and Dorian laughed. "Yes, Bull, he was very attractive. With his house connections, he had half of the Imperium's daughters at his doorstep, and the other half jockeying for position. From what I was told, they were in negotiations with one of the most distinguished families before the ambush happened. Felix wasn't looking forward to marriage, though. Said it would interfere with any fun he could have."

"Sounds like another Vint I would have liked. Damn, that's three. I'm getting soft. I should just join the Imperium now, save myself the embarrassment when my bosses catch wind of it," said Bull.

_("I kept your letters," said Dorian. "I wrote my own. I never knew how to send them. I never knew what to say that would matter."_

_"You could have said anything at all," said Felix. "It all mattered. But I forgive you. After all, you're my best friend."_

_Dorian rubbed his chin to hide its tremble. "I'll send them all this time. I swear it.")_

Solas leaned forward. "How did he feel about magic?" he asked.

"He loved magic," said Dorian. "Or the idea of it, anyway. In practice, it was all a bit mundane for his tastes, but he never stopped searching for grand spells. Not even necessarily useful ones, but ones that were beautiful and audacious. There was nothing he wouldn't try if he thought it would be spectacular. A bit like his father in that way, I expect, although he would have never hurt anyone."

_("I'm glad you came. You were the right person for this," said Felix. "My father only ever listened to you, you know."_

_"I didn't save him," said Dorian. "I'm sorry. I know that's what you wanted. I should have -"_

_Felix shushed him. "You should have done exactly as you did," he said. He leaned back with a faint smile. "Besides, you did save him. You saved us both. You saved the world itself. You knew exactly who to be. Our shining, valiant knight. I always knew you were the one who stole my books.")_

Dorian ran a hand over his face and smiled crookedly. "Once he came in on me working at a bit of magical theory with respect to crystallization and how it might be used to preserve food across long distances with less effort. He took a few looks at it and exclaimed 'This would make perfect decorations for my mother's room, if we only twisted the spells a little!' Of course, by 'a little', he meant to an absurd degree, but he cajoled me into it as always.

"When his mother got home she found a room full of perfect crystal sculptures that would last for decades without melting. She wept in gratitude, very uncomfortable for me I assure you, but when she wandered around the room to examine them, Felix only smiled. 'See?' he said to me. 'Magic should be beautiful whenever possible. It's so much more alive.'

"I have to admit I never quite grasped the concept of that."

And to his horror, Dorian found himself crying. Their statues probably still existed in that empty house he would never see again.

The group sat silently while he sobbed into his hands, undignified and lost. For the first time he understood Gereon's obsession with time, and the dear, destructive price to change it had never seemed so immaterial. This was how madmen happened, he realized. All it took was understanding what could be, exactly at the moment you discovered what you could never live without.

Then Evelyn touched him, careful and sweet, and Dorian breathed in her concern. Again and again he breathed, until the storm was finally past. He took another drink to calm himself, and Varric spoke into the quiet. "So this kid sounds like he got himself into a lot of trouble he charmed his way out of. That's right up my alley. What's the most memorable scrape he ever had?"

Dorian sniffed and wiped his eyes, then grinned wolfishly. "Oh, that's a good one."

_("When will you return to Tevinter?" asked Dorian._

_"We leave tomorrow," said Felix. "From what the Inquisitor said about the future, Tevinter is either in danger or is the danger. I need to do what I can to help." He chuckled softly. "I'm a magister now, it would seem."_

_"Ah yes! That singular honor. You'll be the best of them, save dear Maevaris. Say hello to her for me. And my father, of course. I'm sure he misses me terribly."_

_Felix knocked his leg into Dorian's irritably, grumbling about his eternal sarcasm, and Dorian burst out laughing.)_

They sat around the fire until late in the night, with Dorian telling stories as the rest asked him questions. His memories were heavy and solemn, even the ones full of joy, and Dorian could never let them out as simply as he wanted, but they never complained. Felix would have been proud of them, Dorian knew. He would have said they collected friends like bottles of wine. He would have called them stones in a sea of gems.

When Dorian told them so, they smiled along with him.

As he walked back to his room in the approaching dawn, wondering if he could recreate the crystallization spell on his own, Cole appeared next to him. "He thought your friendship was the most beautiful magic you had. He thought that in Redcliffe, when he saw you again. He wished he'd been better at it, for you. And he was glad to know you shared it with someone again."

More tears came, then, but they weren't as painful. "Yes, that sounds like something he would think. I'm not sure he was right."

"He wasn't your last friend. Just your first. Evelyn will yell at you in the morning about Cullen to make you happy. Felix would like that."

_("And you'll stay with the Inquisitor," said Felix. The Chantry window painted a shadow motley on his face, as though he'd carried back some of the dark future with him. "Do you really hate your homeland so much?"_

_"I love it," said Dorian. His eyes burned and wavered, and he kept his voice steady with effort. "In every breath, with every flaw. I love it so fervently I can't bear to watch it fade. Surely you understand."_

_And Felix smiled, a brilliant flash of sunlight in an empty, forbidding world. He was alive again, with time to spend, and Dorian had never been so glad of anything._

_"Yes," said Felix. His hand cupped Dorian's cheek, weaker than it had been, but its healing coolness remained. "Yes, I understand.")_

Dorian pushed open his door of wood and metal and wondered if loneliness could slip away like the wind. He wondered if he'd been forgiven, when he hadn't been watching. But above all he wondered if friendship was a beauty to best even magic; a window into the soul. "I expect you're right, Cole. I look forward to it."

He slept with his hand curled around an old Tevinter book, dreaming of children's tales with noble rescues and intricate plots and romance in every line. And when he woke in the morning, the memories light and playful around his heart, he knew that he'd been saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was a challenge presented by the DAFFW Facebook group, to take an old, unsatisfactory story and rework it substantively to make it better. So if you think this sounds familiar in places, that's probably why! This story is an old one-shot that I liked from an emotional and thematic perspective, but it had some very bad writing and not enough heavy lifting in the prose to make it resonate the way I wanted in retrospect. I'm throwing it in my one-shot collection now because it honestly makes more sense here (this didn't exist when I first started writing), but if you want to see the original story, it's still up in my story list on FF - Dorian Remembers a Friend. Thanks to the group for the challenge!


End file.
